[internautica]


Tagged “all”

  1. SONG

    [Pepa:]
    We don't talk about Bruno, no, no, no
    We don't talk about Bruno, but
    It was my wedding day

    [Félix:]
    It was our wedding day

    [Pepa:]
    We were getting ready
    And there wasn't a cloud in the sky

    [Félix:]
    No clouds allowed in the sky

    [Pepa:]
    Bruno walks in with a mischievous grin

    [Félix:]
    Thunder

    [Pepa:]
    You're telling the story or am I?

    [Félix:]
    I'm sorry, mi vida, go on

    [Pepa:]
    Bruno says, "It looks like rain"

    [Félix:]
    Why did he tell us?

    [Pepa:]
    In doing so, he floods my brain

    [Félix:]
    Abuela get the umbrellas

    [Pepa:]
    Married in a hurricane

    [Félix:]
    What a joyous day but anyway

    [Pepa & Félix:]
    We don't talk about Bruno, no, no, no
    We don't talk about Bruno

    [Dolores:]
    Hey, grew to live in fear of Bruno stuttering or stumbling
    I can always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling
    I associate him with the sound of falling sand, ch-ch-ch
    It's a heavy lift with a gift so humbling
    Always left Abuela and the family fumbling
    Grappling with prophecies they couldn't understand
    Do you understand?

    [Camilo:]
    Seven-foot frame, rats along his back
    When he calls your name it all fades to black
    Yeah, he sees your dreams and feasts on your screams (Hey)

    [Pepa & Camilo:]
    We don't talk about Bruno, no, no, no

    [Dolores:]
    No, no

    [Pepa & Camilo:]
    We don't talk about Bruno

    [Dolores:]
    We don't talk about Bruno

    [Townsperson 1:]
    He told me my fish would die, the next day, dead

    [Ensemble:]
    No, no

    [Townsperson 2:]
    He told me I'd grow a gut and just like he said

    [Ensemble:]
    No, no

    [Townsperson 3:]
    He said that all my hair would disappear, now, look at my head

    [Ensemble:]
    Hey!
    No, no
    Your fate is sealed when your prophecy is read

    [Isabela:]
    He told me that the life of my dreams
    Would be promised, and someday be mine
    He told me that my power would grow
    Like the grapes that thrive on the vine

    [Abuela Alma:]
    Óye, Mariano's on his way

    [Dolores:]
    He told me that the man of my dreams
    Would be just out of reach
    Betrothed to another
    It's like I hear him, now

    [Isabela:]
    Hey sis, I want not a sound out of you

    [Dolores:]
    It's like I can hear him now, I can hear him now

    [Mirabel:]
    Um, Bruno
    Yeah, about that Bruno
    I really need to know about Bruno
    Give me the truth and the whole truth, Bruno

    [Camilo:]
    Isabela, your boyfriend's here

    [Abuela Alma & Isabela:]
    Time for dinner

    [Camilo:]
    A seven-foot frame, rats along his back

    [Pepa:]
    It was my wedding day

    [Félix:]
    It was our wedding day

    [Isabela:]
    He told me that the life of my dreams

    [Dolores:]
    Grew to live in fear of Bruno stuttering or stumbling

    [Camilo:]
    When he calls your name it all fades to black

    [Pepa:]
    We were getting ready and there wasn't a cloud in the sky

    [Félix:]
    No clouds allowed in the sky

    [Isabela:]
    Would be promised and some day be mine

    [Dolores:]
    I can always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling
    I associate him with the sound of falling sand, ch-ch-ch

    [Camilo:]
    Yeah, he sees your dreams

    [Pepa:]
    Bruno walks in with a mischievous grin

    [Isabela:]
    He told me that my power would grow

    [Dolores:]
    It's a heavy lift with a gift so humbling

    [Camilo:]
    And feasts on your screams

    [Félix:]
    Thunder

    [Pepa:]
    You're telling the story or am I?

    [Félix:]
    I'm sorry mi vida go on

    [Isabela:]
    Like the grapes that thrive on the vine, I'm fine

    [Dolores:]
    Always left Abuela and the family fumbling
    Grappling with prophecies they couldn't understand
    Do you understand

    [Abuela Alma:]
    Óye, Mariano's on his way

    [Pepa:]
    Bruno says, "It looks like rain"

    [Félix:]
    Why did he tell us?

    [Camilo:]
    Seven-foot frame, rats along his back

    [Isabela:]
    He told me that the life of my dreams would be promised and someday be mine

    [Dolores:]
    He told me that the man of my dreams would be just out of reach

    [Pepa:]
    In doing so, he floods my brain

    [Félix:]
    Abuela get the umbrellas

    [Camilo:]
    When he calls your name it all fades to black

    [Dolores:]
    Betrothed to another, another

    [Camilo:]
    Yeah, he sees your dreams and feasts on your screams

    [Pepa:]
    Married in a hurricane

    [Félix:]
    What a joyous day

    [Isabela & Dolores:]
    And I'm fine, and I'm fine, and I'm fine, I'm fine

    [Ensemble:]
    He's here
    Don't talk about Bruno

    [Mirabel:]
    Why did I talk about Bruno?

    [Ensemble:]
    Not a word about Bruno

    [Mirabel:]
    I never should have brought up Bruno

    SONG

    [Pepa:]
    Nie rozmawiamy o Brunie, nie, nie, nie
    Nie rozmawiamy o Brunie, bo!
    Ślub zaraz miałam brać,

    [Félix:]
    Ślub już mieliśmy brać

    [Pepa:]
    Już prawie gotowi,
    I jak spojrzeć, to niebo bez chmur

    [Félix:]
    Stu-pro-cen-to-wo bez chmur!

    [Pepa:]
    Bruno jak wlazł, uśmiechnięty jak czart-

    [Félix:]
    Bam bam baaam!

    [Pepa:]
    Kto ma opowiadać, ty czy ja?

    [Félix:]
    Ach, wybacz, mi vida, już mów~

    [Pepa:]
    Bruno mówi: "Będzie lać"

    [Félix:]
    Czemu tak gada?

    [Pepa:]
    I nagle nie chcę mi się śmiać

    [Félix:]
    Abuela będzie huragan!

    [Pepa:]
    W ulewie więc obrączki dać

    [Félix:]
    Jaki piękny dzień lecz słuchaj mnie

    [Pepa & Félix:]
    Nie rozmawiamy o Brunie, nie, nie, nie
    Nie rozmawiamy o Brunie

    [Dolores:]
    Hej, dorastałam w domu z Brunem ciągle coś szepczącym
    Wszędzie naokoło mruczał, hałas wszechmogący,
    I jak tak przemyka się to jakbym ja słyszała piach, sz-sz-sz
    Pewnie trudno było mu, z darem tak ciążącym
    Rodzina nie wiedziała jak zrozumieć taki obcy
    omen, przepowiadający bliską przyszłość wszystkim z nas
    Wiesz już co i jak?

    [Camilo:]
    Dwa metry ma, szczurów pełen płaszcz
    Gdy odzywa się to dreszcze już masz,
    Tak, widzi twoje sny i pożera łzy (hej!)

    [Pepa & Camilo:]
    Nie rozmawiamy o Brunie, nie, nie, nie

    [Dolores:]
    Nie, nie

    [Pepa & Camilo:]
    Nie rozmawiamy o Brunie

    [Dolores:]
    Nie rozmawiamy o Brunie

    [Townsperson 1:]
    Przepowiedział mojej rybki śmierć, i patrz no, trup!

    [Ensemble:]
    Nie, nie

    [Townsperson 2:]
    Prepowiedzial że będe miał brzuch aż nagle i buch!

    [Ensemble:]
    Nie, nie

    [Townsperson 3:]
    Powiedział mi że wyłysieje, a dzisiaj, patrz racje miał

    [Ensemble:]
    Hej!
    Nie, nie
    Nie wyrwiesz się, gdy przepowiednie ci dał!

    [Isabela:]
    Mówił mi, "obiecane jest ci
    życię marzeń, jak z pięknego snu"
    Mówił mi że mój dar będzie rósł
    jak winorośl wygląda za mur

    [Abuela Alma:]
    Óye, Mariano w drodze jest!

    [Dolores:]
    Mówił mi, mój wybranek ze snów
    Nigdy nie będzie mój,
    Oddany jest innej
    Jakbym słyszała go

    [Isabela:]
    Hej ty, nie narób kłopotów mi dziś

    [Dolores:]
    Jakbym słyszała go, Dalej słyszę go!

    [Mirabel:]
    O Wujku Brunie,
    Więc o tym Brunie,
    Ja muszę się dowiedzieć o Brunie,
    Dajcię mi prawde, no, prawde o Brunie!

    [Camilo:]
    Isabela, twój chłopak już jest!

    [Abuela Alma & Isabela:]
    Czas na kolację

    [Camilo:]
    Dwa metry ma, szczurów pełen płaszcz

    [Pepa:]
    Ślub zaraz miałam brać

    [Félix:]
    Ślub już mieliśmy brać

    [Isabela:]
    Mówił mi,obiecane jest ci

    [Dolores:]
    Dorastałam w domu z Brunem ciągle coś szepczącym

    [Camilo:]
    Gdy odzywa się to dreszcze już masz,

    [Pepa:]
    Już prawie gotowi i jak spojrzeć, to niebo bez chmur

    [Félix:]
    Stu-pro-cen-to-wo bez chmur!

    [Isabela:]
    życię marzeń, jak z pięknego snu

    [Dolores:]
    Wszędzie naokoło mruczał, hałas wszechmogący,
    I jak tak przemyka się to jakbym ja słyszała piach, sz-sz-sz

    [Camilo:]
    Widzi twoje sny

    [Pepa:]
    Bruno jak wlazł, uśmiechnięty jak czart-

    [Isabela:]
    Mówił mi że mój dar będzie rósł

    [Dolores:]
    Pewnie trudno było mu, z darem tak ciążącym

    [Camilo:]
    I pożera łzy

    [Félix:]
    Bam Bam Baaam!

    [Pepa:]
    Kto ma opowiadać, ty czy ja?

    [Félix:]
    No wybacz, mi vida, już mów

    [Isabela:]
    Jak winorośl wygląda za mur, Jest okej

    [Dolores:]
    Rodzina nie wiedziała jak zrozumieć taki obcy
    omen, przepowiadający bliską przyszłość wszystkim z nas
    Wiesz już co i jak?

    [Abuela Alma:]
    Óye, Mariano w drodze jest

    [Pepa:]
    Bruno mówi, "Będzie lać"

    [Félix:]
    Czemu tak gada?

    [Camilo:]
    Dwa metry ma, szczurów pełen płaszcz

    [Isabela:]
    Mówił mi, "obiecane jest ci życię marzeń, jak z pięknego snu"

    [Dolores:]
    Mówił mi, mój wybranek ze snów nigdy nie będzie mój,

    [Pepa:]
    I nagle nie chcę mi się śmiać

    [Félix:]
    Abuela, będzie huragan

    [Camilo:]
    Gdy odzywa się to dreszcze już masz,

    [Dolores:]
    Oddany est innej, innej

    [Camilo:]
    Tak, widzi twoje sny i pożera łzy

    [Pepa:]
    W ulewie więc obrączki dać

    [Félix:]
    Jaki piękny dzień

    [Isabela:]
    Jest okej, jest okej, jest okej, jest okej

    [Ensemble:]
    Już jest!
    Nie mówmy o Brunie, nie, nie

    [Mirabel:]
    Czemu mówiłam o Brunie?

    [Ensemble:]
    Ani słowa o Brunie

    [Mirabel:]
    Czemu zaczełam mówić o Brunie?

    - Disney or some shit


  2. hey I'm [milo] (they/them)! I made this site with eleventy + nunjucks, VSCode and using firefox + chromium ungoogled for testing ^^ big thanks for maia.crimew.gay for sharing it's repository and her overall hacking/computer resources big thanks for sadgrl.online for making me interested in web design again in 2021 fonts: - opendyslexic (https://github.com/antijingoist/opendyslexic) (OFL) [i used opendyslexic2-regular!] - santello (for titles etc) by Aleksei Poteichuk (OFL) - gihun www.khurasanstudio.com (Free to use) - https://github.com/odemiral/woff2sfnt-sfnt2woff/tree/master [for making webfonts out of ttfs]

    -


  3. what they wrote

    • and the world keeps going

      • Reading time: 1 min. read
      • created: Fri Jan 26 2024 01:29:21 GMT+0100 (Central European Standard Time)
      the header menu is getting kinda long...

      programming is fun! *clenches fist* :)

      not much happening, but its an update, yeah? never said those would be consistent

      • last year i went to paris. i wrote about it. its unnecessarily dramatic, and painfully personal, not to mention i never wrote anything like that... not since school haha
      • completely rehauled the eleventy side of the minigame code. its practically completely modular now, so thats fun
      • me and a friend have been talking about possible new characters (audrey and para anyone?) and outfits, but im in heidelberg now so no drawing is gonna be happening
      • im working on an arch linux install tutorial, for shits and giggles

      on a personal note, ive been struggling more and more recently, because of my appearance. also im making my hair green again, its a long process

      stay alive out there -milo

    • now you see me

      • Reading time: 1 min. read
      • created: Sun Jan 14 2024 01:21:50 GMT+0100 (Central European Standard Time)
      yeah yeah ive been gone again

      now you don't

      changes:

      • my art pages have much more content, marked nsfw where appropiate
      • work on the zine page has not been happening lmao
      • same with everything else tbh
      • theres a minigame now! check it out here! [nsfw]

      also im so tried. im gonna go to uni again in september, so ill move back in with my parents which means ill wanna kill myself 24/7. the planet goes on in being round etc etc

      until my next wondrous reappearance!

    • how are yall doing?

      • Reading time: 2 min. read
      • created: Sat Oct 14 2023 04:38:19 GMT+0200 (Central European Summer Time)
      website version 1.3.0 yeehaw!!

      officially internautica.online now!

      yeah i finally decided to shill out the 5 bucks for neo supporter and 20 eur per year for a domain name because its fun yanno? plus apparently i could upload any filetype i want now, though i havent tested it :o

      the changes are as follows:

      • news based on my github commits are displayed on the main screen, which hopefully will encourage me to be more normal and descriptive
      • some accessibility features: dark/light mode, dyslexic freindly font, animation stop button and refactoring of several html components to be more specific than divs!
      • the site should be fully responsive now, so mobile readers can peruse the admittedly meager content
      • new pages: art that ive done, and a landing page that gives some info about the site, with a cookie disclaimer
      • theres been some backend changes, cause i need things to be super duper modular and efficient, which makes writing code for backend take 70% longer than doing it quick and dirty and expanding it later lmao
      • some new images for the footer and a new favicon :333
      • were officially internautica.online!!!! super excited about this hehe
      • im adding new art i like whenever the mood/spoons strike me [bro that css was so annoying why do i do that to myself]

      neos uploading system is still verry annoyingly limited, so i have to reupload every file in my paginated subpages because of hashes or ordering or something grrr i should look into mounting as a drive, but its 4 am so im going zzzzz mimimimi

      about my personal life updates, i continue to exist with more or less sever mood swings, though ive taken up smoking instead of drinking, and im currently dealing with a fruitflies infestation :(
      oh and i dyed my hair red again, but a more cherry color this time :D

      and for last, if the images on the art-i-like page looked... well like shit it was my bad, i uploaded the dev version by mistake :||| sorry bout that lol!

      well thats all, till next time internauts!

    • hiiiiii

      • Reading time: 2 min. read
      • created: Thu Sep 21 2023 22:53:55 GMT+0200 (Central European Summer Time)
      radio silence? i dont know her

      new things?

      not many!
      but as you mightve seen, the last (undocumented) "big" site update was done to rework some css and make it a bit more responsive. that plus the art page has been completely rehauled (check it out here if you havent already!). its where i put things that i find ~evocative~ for whatever reason, and there's also tags and their dedicated pages ^^

      on a sidenote eleventy devs: PLEASE add a dedicated neste pagination support, that allows you to add pagination INSIDE the paginated tag pages from collections.all!!! [there is a plugin for it on here but its fucky and like 5 versions outdated so.... please make this builtin because if i have to write a javascript collection for EVERY tag i'll go insane ahah]
      aside over LMAO

      back to things that are new! i am going to a psychologist for the fist time in 10 months!!!! <= personal update quota reached :]

      do you have hobbies? i do! i really, no, really enjoy translating songs (though im sure theres a word for that that's better than simple translation. transliteration maybe?)
      it's a bit like pulling teeth, but i did manage to force my brain to finish some songs, you can check out the labors of my love here

      and hey - on the off-chance you want a song translated to/from german english or polish shoot me a message on my profile! i'm usually up for a challenge, though there are songs that are simply.... untranslateable :/

      beyond that... i went to paris, i bought a dirndl, i keep existing, like a cockroach behind the fridge of the universe

      so thats all for this one, hope yall enjoy!

    • one step backwards...

      • Reading time: 1 min. read
      • created: Tue Aug 15 2023 18:17:50 GMT+0200 (Central European Summer Time)
      what's new? not big but and not much!!

      keeping it simple

      changes:

      • a lot of internal eleventy stuff that you can check out in my (repository)[https://github.com/emlos/internautica.online] on github
      • adjusted a bit of css and removed some graphics + added some of mine
      • each tag on the art page has its' own page too now!
      • some things that are not yet visible but trust me i am trying to work on things....

      the shrines remain placeholded, since i have been going through things, but i have to keep fighting the urge to ad css so... maybe its time now?

      anyway, im trying to write something... something useful that is, but it turns out i have nothing to say :(
      well, till next time!

    • art gallery thing

      • Reading time: 1 min. read
      • created: Mon Aug 07 2023 22:11:29 GMT+0200 (Central European Summer Time)
      this is where i set up my page for the first second time

      featuring: cool art gallery!

      i figured out (halfway anyway) how pagination an collections work! :D
      so here, check out my new page here!!

      still no css, that's a bit further down the pipeline, since before i start fiddling with sass (yeah i am leaning sass, no its not going well) i want to have the base structure and all most of the features from the previous version!

      also in this update i bring you /robots.txt, /sitemap.xml (with a robots.txt), a 404 page and an improved news page!

      im not sure if i'll keep these update notes, but for now i cant be arsed to squash and organize my repo commits haha. for the features coming up next: regina spektor fanpage! and (possibly) other [planned] placeholder pags :D

    • hello world!!

      • Reading time: 1 min. read
      • created: Sun Aug 06 2023 21:37:28 GMT+0200 (Central European Summer Time)
      this is where i set up my page for the first time

      hey, welcome to the new and revamped..... internautica 2!!!

      i mean im keeping the name and stuff, but im trying to make this whole website thing... the right way

      so im using eleventy!

      instead of copy and pasting common elements like navigation, headers, footers etc... it uses templates to fill my website, and generates a whole static website for me! i just have to update it myself, but it's like a very slow manual me-powered server haha

      i would like to keep this separated into a more technical and a media/oc/fandom part, and id like to make some technical guides lmao

    first -->

    -


  4. hello world!!

    hey, welcome to the new and revamped..... internautica 2!!!

    i mean im keeping the name and stuff, but im trying to make this whole website thing... the right way

    so im using eleventy!

    instead of copy and pasting common elements like navigation, headers, footers etc... it uses templates to fill my website, and generates a whole static website for me! i just have to update it myself, but it's like a very slow manual me-powered server haha

    i would like to keep this separated into a more technical and a media/oc/fandom part, and id like to make some technical guides lmao

    -


  5. 404, page not found

    404: page not found!

    sorry about it, im still figuting things out haha

    -


  6. Bilinguals overwhelmingly report that they feel like different people in different languages. It is often assumed that the mother tongue is the language of the true self. […] But, it first languages are reservoirs of emotion, second languages can be rivers undammed, freeing their speakers to ride different currents.


  7. A Bookmark near the

    He loves history. He wanted to write a biography of John Quincy Adams. I, shamefully, knew almost nothing about John Quincy Adams, so I went online and bought every biography of him I could find. One day, he called me, claiming that we wouldn’t work out long term. He said he loved me but that we had different interests. “What does love mean to you?” I said. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. I, however, find love to be quite simple. Love is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end.


  8. Cherry

    When Daddy comes in, he carries you to bed. Is there anything you feel like you could eat, Pokey? Anything at all?

    All you can imagine putting in your mouth is a cold plum, one with really tight skin on the outside but gum-shocking sweetness inside. And he and your mother discuss where he might find some this late in the season. Mother says hell I don’t know. Further north, I’d guess.

    The next morning, you wake up in your bed and sit up. Mother says, Pete, I think she’s up. He hollers in, You ready for breakfast, Pokey. Then he comes in grinning, still in his work clothes from the night before. He’s holding a farm bushel. The plums he empties onto the bed river toward you through folds in the quilt. If you stacked them up, they’d fill the deepest bin at the Piggly Wiggly.

    Damned if I didn’t get the urge to drive to Arkansas last night, he says.

    Your mother stands behind him saying he’s pure USDA crazy.

    Fort Smith, Arkansas. Found a roadside stand out there with a feller selling plums. And I says, Buddy, I got a little girl sick back in Texas. She’s got a hanker for plums and ain’t nothing else gonna do.

    It’s when you sink your teeth into the plum that you make a promise. The skin is still warm from riding in the sun in Daddy’s truck, and the nectar runs down your chin.

    And you snap out of it. Or are snapped out of it. Never again will you lay a hand against yourself, not so long as there are plums to eat and somebody-anybody-who gives enough of a damn to haul them to you. So long as you bear the least nibblet of love for any other creature in this dark world, though in love portions are never stingy. There are no smidgens or pinches, only rolling abundance. That’s how you acquire the resolution for survival that the coming years are about to demand. You don’t earn it. It’s given.


  9. What is it that the child has to teach?

    The child naively believes that everything should be fair and everyone should be honest, that only good should prevail, that everybody should have what they want and there should be no pain or sadness. The child believes the world should be perfect and is outraged to discover it is not.

    And the child is right.


  10. Differences of Opinion

    He tells her that the earth is flat—
    He knows the facts, and that is that.
    In altercations fierce and long
    She tries her best to prove him wrong.
    But he has learned to argue well.
    He calls her arguments unsound
    And often asks her not to yell.
    She cannot win. He stands his ground.

    The planet goes on being round.


  11. You: What is this strange feeling I keep having? This cold... even now?

    Shivers: I AM LA REVACHOLIÈRE. I AM THE CITY.

    You: What do you mean, you are the city?

    Shivers: I AM A FRAGMENT OF THE WORLD SPIRIT, THE GENIUS LOCI OF REVACHOL. MY HEART IS THE WIND CORRIDOR. THE BOTTOM OF MY AIR IS RED. I HAVE A HUNDRED THOUSAND LUMINOUS ARMS. COME MORNING, I CARRY INDUSTRIAL DUST AND LET IT SETTLE ON TREE LEAVES. I SHAKE THE DUST FROM THOSE LEAVES AND ONTO YOUR COAT. I'VE SEEN YOU, I'VE SEEN YOU! I'VE SEEN YOU WITH HER — AND I'VE SEEN YOU WITHOUT HER. I'VE SEEN YOU ON THE CRESCENT OF THE HILL.

    You: How are you talking to me?

    Shivers: THE MODULATIONS OF MY VOICE ARE NOTED DOWN WITH THERMOMETERS AND BAROMETERS. YOU FEEL ME IN YOUR NOSTRILS, ON THE LITTLE HAIRS ON THE BACK OF YOUR NECK. I ALSO RESIDE IN YOUR LUNGS AND VESTIGIAL ORGANS. EVERYWHERE THERE IS SPACE.

    Rhetoric: All this eloquence — it's in service of something. She's afraid.

    You: What are you afraid of?

    Shivers: DEATH — IT IS TERRIFYING. I NEED YOU TO PROTECT ME FROM DEATH. I CANNOT PERISH. LOOK AT ME. I CANNOT END. IN 22 YEARS, THE FIRST SHOT WILL BE FIRED. NOT A SHOT FROM A GUN — AN ATOMIC DEVICE THAT WILL LEVEL ALL OF ME. ALL OF ME.

    You: But... what can I do about it?

    Shivers: YOU ARE AN OFFICER OF THE CITIZENS MILITIA. YOU MOVE THROUGH MY STREETS FREELY IN MOTOR CARRIAGES AND ON FOOT. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THE HIDDEN PLACES. YOU ALSO CIRCULATE AMONG THOSE WHO ARE HIDDEN. I NEED YOU. YOU CAN KEEP ME ON THIS EARTH. BE VIGILANT. I LOVE YOU.


  12. Fandom for Robots

    Computron feels no emotion towards the animated television show titled Hyperdimension Warp Record (超次元 ワープ レコード). After all, Computron does not have any emotion circuits installed, and is thus constitutionally incapable of experiencing “excitement,” “hatred,” or “frustration.” It is completely impossible for Computron to experience emotions such as “excitement about the seventh episode of HyperWarp,” “hatred of the anime’s short episode length” or “frustration that Friday is so far away.”

    Computron checks his internal chronometer, as well as the countdown page on the streaming website. There are twenty-two hours, five minutes, forty-six seconds, and twelve milliseconds until 2 am on Friday (Japanese Standard Time). Logically, he is aware that time is most likely passing at a normal rate. The Simak Robotics Museum is not within close proximity of a black hole, and there is close to no possibility that time is being dilated. His constant checking of the chronometer to compare it with the countdown page serves no scientific purpose whatsoever.

    After fifty milliseconds, Computron checks the countdown page again.


    The Simak Robotics Museum’s commemorative postcard set ($15.00 for a set of twelve) describes Computron as “The only known sentient robot, created in 1954 by Doctor Karel Alquist to serve as a laboratory assistant. No known scientist has managed to recreate the doctor’s invention. Its steel-framed box-and-claw design is characteristic of the period.” Below that, in smaller print, the postcard thanks the Alquist estate for their generous donation.

    In the museum, Computron is regarded as a quaint artefact, and plays a key role in the Robotics Then and Now performance as an example of the “Then.” After the announcer’s introduction to robotics, Computron appears on stage, answers four standard queries from the audience as proof of his sentience, and steps off the stage to make way for the rest of the performance, which ends with the android-bodied automaton TETSUCHAN showcasing its ability to breakdance.

    Today’s queries are likely to be similar to the rest. A teenage girl waves at the announcer and receives the microphone.

    “Hi, Computron. My question is… have you watched anime before?”

    [Yes,] Computron vocalises. [I have viewed the works of the renowned actress Anna May Wong. Doctor Alquist enjoyed her movies as a child.]

    “Oh, um, not that,” the girl continues. “I meant Japanese animation. Have you ever watched this show called Hyperdimension Warp Record?”

    [I have not.]

    “Oh, okay, I was just thinking that you really looked like one of the characters. But since you haven’t, maybe you could give HyperWarp a shot! It’s really good, you might like it! There are six episodes out so far, and you can watch it on—”

    The announcer cuts the girl off, and hands the microphone over to the next querent, who has a question about Doctor Alquist’s research. After answering two more standard queries, Computron returns to his storage room to answer his electronic mail, which consists of queries from elementary school students. He picks up two metal styluses, one in each of his grasping claws, and begins tapping them on the computing unit’s keyboard, one key at a time. Computron explains the difference between a robot and an android to four students, and provides the fifth student with a hyperlink to Daniel Clement Dennett III’s writings on consciousness.

    As Computron readies himself to enter sleep mode, he recalls the teenage girl’s request that he “give HyperWarp a shot.” It is only logical to research the Japanese animation Hyperdimension Warp Record in order to address queries from future visitors. The title, when entered into a search engine on the World Wide Web, produces about 957,000 results (0.27 seconds).

    Computron manoeuvres the mouse pointer to the third hyperlink, which offers to let him “watch Hyperdimension Warp Record FULL episodes streaming online high quality.” From the still image behind the prominent “play” button, the grey boxy figure standing beside the large-eyed blue-haired human does bear an extremely slight resemblance to Computron’s design. It is only logical to press the “play” button on the first episode, in order to familiarise himself with recent discourse about robots in popular culture.

    The series’ six episodes are each approximately 25 minutes long. Between watching the series, viewing the online bulletin boards, and perusing the extensively footnoted fan encyclopedia, Computron does not enter sleep mode for ten hours, thirty-six minutes, two seconds, and twenty milliseconds.


    Hyperdimension Warp Record (超次元 ワープ レコード Chōjigen Wāpu Rekōdo, literal translation: Super Dimensional Warp Record) is a Japanese anime series set in space in the far future. The protagonist, Ellison, is an escapee from a supposedly inescapable galactic prison. Joined by a fellow escapee, Cyro (short for Cybernetic Robot), the two make their way across the galaxy to seek revenge. The targets of their revenge are the Seven Sabers of Paradise, who have stolen the hyperdimensional warp unit from Cyro’s creator and caused the death of Ellison’s entire family.

    Episode seven of HyperWarp comes with the revelation that the Second Saber, Ellison’s identical twin, had murdered their parents before faking her own death. After Cyro and Ellison return to the Kosmogram, the last segment of the episode unfolds without dialogue. There is a slow pan across the spaceship’s control area, revealing that Ellison has indulged in the human pastime known as “crying” before falling asleep in the captain’s chair. His chest binder is stained with blood from the wound on his collarbone. Cyro reaches over, gently using his grabbing claw to loosen Ellison’s binder, and drapes a blanket over him. An instrumental version of the end theme plays as Cyro gets up from his seat, making his way to the recharging bay at the back of the ship. From the way his footfalls are animated, it is clear that Cyro is trying his best to avoid making any noise as he walks.

    The credits play over a zoomed-out shot of the Kosmogram making its way to the next exoplanet, a tiny pinpoint of bright blue in the vast blackness of space.

    The preview for the next episode seems to indicate that the episode will focus on the Sabers’ initial attempt to activate the hyperdimensional warp unit. There is no mention of Cyro or Ellison at all.

    During the wait for episode eight, Computron discovers a concept called “fanfiction.”


    While “fanfiction” is meant to consist of “fan-written stories about characters or settings from an original work of fiction,” Computron observes that much of the HyperWarp fanfiction bears no resemblance to the actual characters or setting. For instance, the series that claims to be a “spin-off focusing on Powerful!Cyro” seems to involve Cyro installing many large-calibre guns onto his frame and joining the Space Marines, which does not seem relevant to his quest for revenge or the retrieval of the hyperdimensional warp unit. Similarly, the “high school fic” in which Cyro and Ellison study at Hyperdimension High fails to acknowledge the fact that formal education is reserved for the elite class in the HyperWarp universe.

    Most of the fanfiction set within the actual series seems particularly inaccurate. The most recent offender is EllisonsWife’s “Rosemary for Remembrance,” which fails to acknowledge the fact that Cyro does not have human facial features, and thus cannot “touch his nose against Ellison’s hair, breathing in the scent of sandalwood, rosemary, and something uniquely him” before “kissing Ellison passionately, needily, hungrily, his tongue slipping into Ellison’s mouth.”

    Computron readies his styluses and moves the cursor down to the comment box, prepared to leave anonymous “constructive criticism” for EllisonsWife, when he detects a comment with relevant keywords.

    bjornruffian:
    Okay, I’ve noticed this in several of your fics and I was trying not to be too harsh, but when it got to the kissing scene I couldn’t take it anymore. Cyro can’t touch his nose against anything, because he doesn’t have a nose! Cyro can’t slip his tongue into anyone’s mouth, because he doesn’t have a tongue! Were we even watching the same series?? Did you skip all the parts where Cyro is a metal robot with a cube-shaped head?!

    EllisonsWife:
    Who are you, the fandom police?? I’m basing Cyro’s design on this piece of fanart (link here) because it looks better than a freakin metal box!! Anyway, I put DON’T LIKE DON’T READ in the author’s notes!!! If you hate the way I write them so much, why don’t you just write your own????

    Computron is incapable of feeling hatred for anything, as that would require Doctor Alquist to have installed emotion circuits during his creation.

    However, due to Computron’s above-average procedural knowledge, he is capable of following the directions to create an account on fanficarchive.org.


    …and Ellison manoeuvred his flesh hands in a claw-like motion, locking them with Cyro’s own grasping claws. His soft human body pressed against the hard lines of Cyro’s proprietary alloy, in a manner which would have generated wear and tear had Cyro’s body not been of superior make. Fluids leaked from Ellison’s eyes. No fluids leaked from Cyro’s ocular units, but…

    Comments (3)
    DontGotRhythm:
    What the hell? Have you ever met a human? This reads like an alien wrote it.

    tattered_freedom_wings:
    uhhh this is kinda weird but i think i liked it?? not sure about the box thing though

    bjornruffian:
    OH MY GODDDD. :DDDD Finally, someone who doesn’t write human-shaped robot-in-name-only Cyro! Some of Ellison’s characterisation is a little awkward—I don’t think he would say all that mushy stuff about Cyro’s beautiful boxy shape??—but I love your Cyro! If this is just your first fic, I can’t wait for you to write more!!


    Computron has been spending less time in sleep mode after Episode Thirteen’s cliffhanger, and has spent his time conducting objective discussions about HyperWarp’s appeal with commenters on various video streaming sites and anonymous message boards.

    As he is about to reply to the latest missive about his lack of genitalia and outside social activities, which is technically correct, his internal chrono-meter indicates that it is time for the Robotics Then and Now performance.

    “So, I was wondering, have you ever watched Hyperdimension Warp Record? There’s this character called Cyro that—”

    [Yes, I am aware of HyperWarp,] Computron says. [I have taken the “How To Tell If Your Life Is HyperWarp” quiz online, and it has indicated that I am “a Hyper-Big HyperWarp Fan!” I have repeatedly viewed the scene between Ellison and Cyro at the end of Episode Seven, and recently I have left a “like” on bjornruffian’s artwork of what may have happened shortly after that scene, due to its exceptional accuracy. The show is widely regarded as “this season’s sleeper hit” and has met with approval from a statistically significant number of critics. If other members of the audience wish to view this series, there are thirteen episodes out so far, and they can be viewed on—] The announcer motions to him, using the same gesture she uses when audience members are taking too long to talk. Computron falls silent until the announcer chooses the next question, which is also the last due to time constraints.

    After TETSUCHAN has finished its breakdance and showcased its newly-programmed ability to pop-and-lock, the announcer speaks to Computron backstage. She requests that he take less time for the question-and-answer segment in the future.

    [Understood,] Computron says, and returns to his storage room to check his inbox again.


    Private Message from bjornruffian:
    Hi RobotFan,
    I noticed you liked my art (thanks!) and you seem to know a LOT about robots judging from your fic (and, well, your name). I’m doing a fancomic about Ellison and Cyro being stranded on one of the desert-ish exoplanets while they try to fix the Kosmogram, but I want to make sure I’m drawing Cyro’s body right. Are there any references you can recommend for someone who’s looking to learn more about robots? Like, the classic kind, not the android kind? It’d be great if they’re available online, especially if they have pictures—I’ve found some books with photos but they’re WAAAAY more than I can afford :\\

    Thank you for any help you can offer! I’m really looking forward to your next fic!


    Shortly after reading bjornruffian’s message, Computron visits the Early Robotics section of the museum. It has shrunk significantly over the years, particularly after the creation of the “Redefining Human,” “Androids of the Future,” and “Drone Zone” sections. It consists of several information panels, a small collection of tin toys, and the remnants of all three versions of Hexode the robot.

    In Episode 14 of Hyperdimension Warp Record, Cyro visits a deserted exoplanet alone to investigate the history of the hyperdimension warp drive, and finds himself surrounded by the deactivated bodies of robots of similar make, claws outstretched, being slowly ground down by the gears of a gigantic machine. The “Robot Recycler” scene is frequently listed as one of that year’s top ten most shocking moments in anime.

    On 7 June 1957, the third version of Hexode fails Doctor Alquist’s mirror test for the hundredth time, proving that it has no measurable self-awareness. Computron watches Doctor Alquist smash the spanner against Hexode’s face, crumpling its nose and lips. Oil leaks from its ocular units as it falls to the floor with a metallic thud. Its vocal synthesiser crackles and hisses.

    “You godforsaken tin bucket,” Doctor Alquist shouts. “To hell with you.” If Doctor Alquist were to raise the spanner to Computron, it is likely that Doctor Alquist will not have an assistant for any future robotics experiments. Computron stays still, standing in front of the mirror, silently observing the destruction of Hexode so he can gather up its parts later.

    When Computron photographs Hexode’s display case, he is careful to avoid capturing any part of himself in the reflection.


    [bjornruffian] Oh man, thank you SO MUCH for installing chat just for this! Anyway, I really appreciate your help with the script so far (I think we can call it a collab by this point?). And thanks for the exhibit photos! Was it a lot of trouble? I checked the website and that museum is pretty much in the middle of nowhere…

    —File Transfer of “THANK YOU ROBOTFAN.png” from “bjornruffian” started.

    —File Transfer of “THANK YOU ROBOTFAN.png” from “bjornruffian” finished.

    [bjornruffian] So I’ve got a few questions about page 8 in the folder I shared, can you take a look at the second panel from the top? I figured his joint would be all gummed up by the sand, so I thought I’d try to do an X-ray view thing as a closeup… if you have any idea how the circuits are supposed to be, could you double-check?

    [bjornruffian] Okay, you’re taking really long to type, this is making me super nervous I did everything wrong :\

    [RobotFan] Apologies

    [RobotFan] I

    [RobotFan] Am not fast at typing

    [bjornruffian] Okaaay, I’ll wait on the expert here

    [RobotFan] The circuit is connected incorrectly and the joint mechanism is incorrect as well

    [bjornruffian] Ughhhhh I knew it was wrong!! DDD:

    [bjornruffian] I wish the character sheets came with schematics or something, I’ve paused the flashback scenes with all the failed robots like ten billion times to take screenshots >:\

    [RobotFan] Besides the scenes in Episode 14, there are other shots of Cyro’s schematics in Episode 5 (17:40:18 and 20:13:50) as well as Episode 12 (08:23:14)

    —File Transfer of “schematic-screenshots.zip” from “RobotFan” started.

    —File Transfer of “schematic-screenshots.zip” from “RobotFan” finished.

    [bjornruffian] THANK YOU

    [bjornruffian] I swear you’re some sort of angel or something

    [RobotFan] That is incorrect

    [RobotFan] I am merely a robot


    There are certain things in the museum’s storage room that would benefit bjornruffian’s mission of completing her Cyro/Ellison comic. Computron and Hexode’s schematics are part of the Alquist Collection, which is not a priority for the museum’s digitisation project due to a perceived lack of value. As part of the Alquist Collection himself, there should be no objection to Computron retrieving the schematics.

    As Computron grasps the doorknob with his left claw, he catches a glimpse of Cyro from Episode 15 in the door’s glass panels, his ocular units blazing yellow with determination after overcoming his past. In fan parlance, this is known as Determined!Cyro, and has only been seen during fight scenes thus far. It is illogical to have Determined!Cyro appear in this context, or in this location.

    Computron looks at the dusty glass again, and sees only a reflection of his face.


    [RobotFan] I have a large file to send to you

    [RobotFan] To be precise, four large files

    [RobotFan] The remaining three will be digitised and sent at a later date

    —File Transfer of “alquist-archive-scans-pt1.zip” from “RobotFan” started.

    —File Transfer of “alquist-archive-scans-pt1.zip” from “RobotFan” finished.

    [bjornruffian] OMG THIS IS AWESOME

    [bjornruffian] Where did you get this?? Did you rob that museum?? This is PERFECT for that other Cyro/Ellison thing I’ve been thinking about doing after this stupid desert comic is over!!

    [bjornruffian] It would be great if I had someone to help me with writing Cyro, HINT HINT

    [RobotFan] I would be happy to assist if I had emotion circuits

    [RobotFan] However, my lack of emotion circuits means I cannot be “happy” about performing any actions

    [RobotFan] Nonetheless, I will assist

    [RobotFan] To make this an equitable trade as is common in human custom, you may also provide your opinion on some recurrent bugs that readers have reported in my characterisation of Ellison

    [bjornruffian] YESSSSSSSS :DDDDDD


    Rossum, Sulla. “Tin Men and Tin Toys: Examining Real and Fictional Robots from the 1950s.” Journal of Rowendybotics Studies 8.2 (2018): 25-38.

    While the figure of the fictional robot embodies timeless fears of technology and its potential for harm, the physical design of robots real and fictional is often linked to visual cues of modernity. What was once regarded as an “object of the future” can become “overwhelmingly obsolete” within a span of a few years, after advances in technology cause the visual cues of modernity to change (Bloch, 1979). The clawed, lumbering tin-toy-esque designs of the 1950s are now widely regarded as “tin can[s] that should have been recycled long ago” (Williamson, 2017). Notably, most modern critiques of Computron’s design tend to focus on its obsolete analogue dials…

    watch-free-anime | Hyperdimension Warp Record | Episode 23 | Live Chat

    Pyro: Okay, is it just me, or is Cyro starting to get REALLY attractive? I swear I’m not gay (is it gay if it’s a robot) but when he slung Ellison over his shoulder and used his claw to block the Sixth Saber at the same time

    Pyro: HOLY SHIT that sniper scene RIGHT THROUGH THE SCOPE and then he fucking BUMPS ELLISON’S FIST WITH HIS CLAW

    Pyro: Fuck it, I’m gay for Cyro I don’t care, I’ll fucking twiddle his dials all he wants after this episode

    ckwizard: dude youre late, weve been finding cyro hot ever since that scene in episode 15

    ckwizard: you know the one

    ckwizard: where you just see this rectangular blocky shadow lumbering slowly towards first saber with those clunky sound effects

    ckwizard: then his eyebulbs glint that really bright yellow and he bleeps about ACTIVATING KILL MODE and his grabby claws start whirring

    ckwizard: theres a really good fic about it on fanficarchive… actually you might as well check the authors blog out here, hes pretty cyro-obsessed

    ckwizard: his earlier stuff is kinda uneven but the bjorn collabs are good—shes been illustrating his stuff for a while

    Pyro: Okay

    Pyro: I just looked at that thing, you know, the desert planet comic

    Pyro: I think I ship it

    Pyro: OH MAN when Ellison tries the manual repair on the arm joint and Cyro has a FLASHBACK TO THE ROBOT RECYCLER but tries to remind himself he can trust him

    Pyro: Fuck it I DEFINITELY ship it

    ckwizard: join the fucking club

    ckwizard: its the fifth time im watching this episode, this series has ruined my life

    ckwizard: i can’t wait for season 2


    bjorn-robot-collabs posted:

    Hi everyone, bjornruffian and RobotFan here! Thanks for all your comments on our first comic collab! We’re really charmed by the great reception to “In the Desert Sun”—okay, I’m charmed, and RobotFan says he would be charmed if he had the emotion circuits for that (he’s an awesome roleplay partner too! LOVE his sense of humor :DDD).

    ANYWAY! It turns out that RobotFan’s got this awesome collection of retro robot schematics and he’s willing to share, for those of you who want to write about old-school robots or need some references for your art! (HINT HINT: the fandom totally needs more Cyro and Cyro/Ellison before Season 2 hits!) To be honest I’m not sure how legal it is to circulate these scans (RobotFan says it’s fine though), so just reply to this post if you want them and we’ll private message you the links if you promise not to spread them around.

    Also, we’re gonna do another Cyro/Ellison comic in the future, and we’re thinking of making it part of an anthology. If you’d like to contribute comics or illustrations for that, let us know!

    Get ready to draw lots of boxes, people! The robot revolution is coming!
    9,890 replies


  13. First Contact Is Made With A Little Girl Skipping Rocks At A Creek

    Hi! Do you want to share my creekbed? Mama says it isn't my creekbed, it belongs to the world, but I call it mine because I'm the only one who ever uses it. Wanna skip rocks? We can race. I'll even let you have my smoother ones, they're best for skipping. You don't know how? Here, like this. Move that bit more. Your wrists are funny. Your whole body's funny. Mama says that's mean to say, but how can it be mean? Being funny is a good thing. I've got a funny toe. It's smaller than all the others, see? Oh wow, your toes are funny too. No silly, you can't step over there--that's where all the poliwogs live. They're baby frogs. You can stick your fingers in and wiggle at them if you promise to be gentle.

    Boy, you sure got a lot of fingers. Oh, they like you! Aren't they cute? When I grow up, I'm gonna have a whole poliwog family. They'll live in my bathtub. Why do you have so many hands? I wish I had that many hands. I bet you'll be real good at rock skipping. Do you have creeks where you live? I come out here a lot. Sometimes if I'm real quiet, the beavers will come out with their babies. Do you have beavers where you live? They look like this, with their teeth. And they have great big tails that slap the water, like this. They eat trees, and they build houses with them too. Their house is called dam but Mama says I'm not allowed to say that. Grown ups are always telling us what words we can't say, but that's just because they're embarrassed. They say the words by accident a lot. Look! See that? It's a wooly bear! His fur's all orange, and that means it's gonna be a good summer. You wanna meet Mama? Maybe she'll make us some ice cream, since you're a guest. Careful! The big rocks are slippery. Here, hold my hand. This is how I walk with Mama so she won't lose me. I won't let you fall.


  14. Some things could only be written in a foreign language; they are not lost in translation, but conceived by it. Foreign verbs of motion could be the only ways of transporting the ashes of familial memory. After all, a foreign language is like art—an alternative reality, a potential world.


  15. Fragment 147

    someone will remember us
    I say
    even in another time


  16. I Know What You Think of Me,

    We don’t give other people credit for the same interior complexity we take for granted in ourselves, the same capacity for holding contradictory feelings in balance, for complexly alloyed affections, for bottomless generosity of heart and petty, capricious malice. We can’t believe that anyone could be unkind to us and still be genuinely fond of us, although we do it all the time.

    Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.


  17. Habe ich geschwiegen

    Als die Nazis die Kommunisten holten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Kommunist.
    Als sie die Sozialdemokraten einsperrten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Sozialdemokrat.
    Als sie die Gewerkschafter holten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Gewerkschafter.
    Als sie die Juden holten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Jude.
    Als sie mich holten, gab es keinen mehr, der protestieren konnte.


  18. The Committee Weighs In

    I tell my mother
    I’ve won the Nobel Prize.

    Again? she says. Which
    discipline this time?

    It’s a little game
    we play: I pretend

    I’m somebody, she
    pretends she isn’t dead.


  19. Long-term nuclear waste warning messages

    This place is a message... and part of a system of messages... pay attention to it!

    Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.

    This place is not a place of honor... no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here... nothing valued is here.

    What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.

    The danger is in a parvalueticular location... it increases towards a center... the center of danger is here... of a particular size and shape, and below us.

    The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.

    The danger is to the body, and it can kill.

    The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.

    The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.


  20. Ode to Spot

    Felis Cattus, is your taxonomic nomenclature,
    an endothermic quadruped carnivorous by nature?
    Your visual, olfactory and auditory senses
    contribute to your hunting skills, and natural defenses.

    I find myself intrigued by your subvocal oscillations,
    a singular development of cat communications
    that obviates your basic hedonistic predilection
    for a rhythmic stroking of your fur, to demonstrate affection.

    A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents;
    you would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance.
    And when not being utilized to aide in locomotion,
    it often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion.

    O Spot, the complex levels of behaviour you display
    connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array.
    And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend,
    I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.


  21. If all stories were written like science fiction stories

    Roger and Ann needed to meet Sergey in San Francisco.

    “Should we take a train, or a steamship, or a plane?” asked Ann.

    “Trains are too slow, and the trip by steamship around South America would take months,” replied Roger. “We’ll take a plane.”

    He logged onto the central network using his personal computer, and waited while the system verified his identity. With a few keystrokes he entered an electronic ticketing system, and entered the codes for his point of departure and his destination. In moments the computer displayed a list of possible flights, and he picked the earliest one. Dollars were automatically deducted from his personal account to pay for the transaction.

    The planes left from the city airport, which they reached using the city bi-rail. Ann had changed into her travelling outfit, which consisted of a light shirt in polycarbon-derived artifical fabric, which showed off her pert figure, without genetic enhancements, and dark blue pants made of textiles. Her attractive brown hair was uncovered.

    At the airport Roger presented their identification cards to a representative of the airline company, who used her own computer system to check his identity and retrieve his itinerary. She entered a confirmation number, and gave him two passes which gave them access to the boarding area. They now underwent a security inspection, which was required for all airline flights. They handed their luggage to another representative; it would be transported in a separate, unpressurized chamber on the aircraft.

    “Do you think we’ll be flying on a propeller plane? Or one of the newer jets?” asked Ann.

    “I’m sure it will be a jet,” said Roger. “Propeller planes are almost entirely out of date, after all. On the other hand, rocket engines are still experimental. It’s said that when they’re in general use, trips like this will take an hour at most. This one will take up to four hours.”

    After a short wait, they were ushered onto the plane with the other passengers. The plane was an enormous steel cylinder at least a hundred meters long, with sleek backswept wings on which four jet engines were mounted. They glanced into the front cabin and saw the two pilots, consulting a bank of equipment needed the fly the plane. Roger was glad that he did not need to fly the plane himself; it was a difficult profession which required years of training.

    The surprisingly large passenger area was equipped with soft benches, and windows through which they could look down at the countryside as they flew 11 km high at more than 800 km/h. There were nozzles for the pressurized air which kept the atmosphere in the cabin warm and comfortable despite the coldness of the stratosphere.

    “I’m a little nervous,” Ann said, before the plane took off.

    “There’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “These flights are entirely routine. You’re safer than you are in our ground transport cars!”

    Despite his calm words, Roger had to admit to some nervousness as the pilot took off, and the land dropped away below them. He and the other passengers watched out the windows for a long time. With difficulty, he could make out houses and farms and moving vehicles far below.

    “There are more people going to San Francisco today than I would have expected,” he remarked.

    “Some of them may in fact be going elsewhere,” she answered. “As you know, it’s expensive to provide airplane links between all possible locations. We employ a hub system, and people from smaller cities travel first to the hub, and then to their final destination. Fortunately, you found us a flight that takes us straight to San Francisco.”

    When they arrived at the San Francisco airport, agents of the airline company helped them out of their seats and retrieved their luggage, checking the numeric tags to ensure that they were given to the right people.

    “I can hardly believe we’re already in another city,” said Ann. “Just four hours ago we were in Chicago.”

    “We’re not quite there!” corrected Roger. “We’re in the airport, which is some distance from the city, since it requires a good deal of space on the ground, and because of occasional accidents. From here we’ll take a smaller vehicle into the city.”

    They selected one of the hydrocarbon-powered ground transports from the queue which waited outside the airport. The fee was small enough that it was not paid electronically, but using portable dollar tokens. The driver conducted his car unit into the city; though he drove only at 100 km/hr, it felt much faster since they were only a meter from the concrete road surface. He looked over at Ann, concerned that the speed might alarm her; but she seemed to be enjoying the ride. A game girl, and intelligent as well!

    At last the driver stopped his car, and they had arrived. Electronic self-opening doors welcomed them to Sergey’s building. The entire trip had taken less than seven hours.


  22. Opinion: Why Make Fellini the Scapegoat for New Cultural Intolerance?

    "Excuse Me; I Must Have Missed Part of the Movie" (The Week in Review, Nov. 7) cites Federico Fellini as an example of a film maker whose style gets in the way of his storytelling and whose films, as a result, are not easily accessible to audiences. Broadening that argument, it includes other artists: Ingmar Bergman, James Joyce, Thomas Pynchon, Bernardo Bertolucci, John Cage, Alain Resnais and Andy Warhol.

    It's not the opinion I find distressing, but the underlying attitude toward artistic expression that is different, difficult or demanding. Was it necessary to publish this article only a few days after Fellini's death?

    I feel it's a dangerous attitude, limiting, intolerant. If this is the attitude toward Fellini, one of the old masters, and the most accessible at that, imagine what chance new foreign films and film makers have in this country.

    It reminds me of a beer commercial that ran a while back. The commercial opened with a black and white parody of a foreign film -- obviously a combination of Fellini and Bergman. Two young men are watching it, puzzled, in a video store, while a female companion seems more interested. A title comes up: "Why do foreign films have to be so foreign?" The solution is to ignore the foreign film and rent an action-adventure tape, filled with explosions, much to the chagrin of the woman.

    It seems the commercial equates "negative" associations between women and foreign films: weakness, complexity, tedium. I like action-adventure films too. I also like movies that tell a story, but is the American way the only way of telling stories?

    The issue here is not "film theory," but cultural diversity and openness. Diversity guarantees our cultural survival. When the world is fragmenting into groups of intolerance, ignorance and hatred, film is a powerful tool to knowledge and understanding. To our shame, your article was cited at length by the European press.

    The attitude that I've been describing celebrates ignorance. It also unfortunately confirms the worst fears of European film makers.

    Is this closedmindedness something we want to pass along to future generations?

    If you accept the answer in the commercial, why not take it to its natural progression:

    Why don't they make movies like ours?

    Why don't they tell stories as we do?

    Why don't they dress as we do?

    Why don't they eat as we do?

    Why don't they talk as we do?

    Why don't they think as we do?

    Why don't they worship as we do?

    Why don't they look like us?

    Ultimately, who will decide who "we" are?


  23. The Orange

    At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
    The size of it made us all laugh.
    I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
    They got quarters and I had a half.

    And that orange, it made me so happy,
    As ordinary things often do
    Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
    This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

    The rest of the day was quite easy.
    I did all the jobs on my list
    And enjoyed them and had some time over.
    I love you. I’m glad I exist.

    - Wendy Cope


  24. The Tiger

    The tiger
    He destroyed his cage
    Yes
    YES
    The tiger is out


  25. The House will forgive me for quoting myself, but in the course of my life I have developed five little democratic questions. If one meets a powerful person--Adolf Hitler, Joe Stalin or Bill Gates--ask them five questions: "What power have you got? Where did you get it from? In whose interests do you exercise it? To whom are you accountable? And how can we get rid of you?" If you cannot get rid of the people who govern you, you do not live in a democratic system.

    - English Labour MP Tony Benn in the House of Commons, 22 march 2001


  26. A Toast to the Alchemists

    Alchemists,
    you were right, it is
    possible.
    We have the proof now.
    There are equations.

    If you could come back
    for a day, if you could
    conjure yourself into
    this chemistry classroom,
    if you could read the
    textbook or watch the
    professor writing the
    answers on the board…

    Alchemists,
    you would see that you
    were right, even though
    you didn’t know about
    alpha and beta radiation,
    even though you didn’t
    understand isotopes,
    you knew it was possible,
    that some elements can
    change into other elements,
    that transmutation can
    occur.

    Alchemists,
    there is proof now that
    it is possible, although
    each new element, having
    a brief half-life, would
    keep changing into other
    things.

    Alchemists,
    you were right, you can
    make anything, anything,
    uranium, plutonium, tel-
    lurium, mercury, copper,
    cobalt, platinum, silver,
    and gold, you can make
    gold, an isotope so
    radioactive it would
    sparkle before your eyes.

    Alchemists,
    you were right.
    It is magic.


  27. Westerners are fond of the saying ‘Life isn’t fair.’ Then, they end in snide triumphant: ‘So get used to it!’ What a cruel, sadistic notion to revel in! What a terrible, patriarchal response to a child’s budding sense of ethics. Announce to an Iroquois, ‘Life isn’t fair,’ and her response will be: ‘Then make it fair!’


  28. WHY ARE YOU LONELY: A TEXT GAME

    WHY ARE YOU LONELY: CHOOSE ONE

    • FAILED TO NURTURE RELATIONSHIPS BORN OUT OF CONVENIENCE ONCE CHANGING CIRCUMSTANCES REQUIRED ACTIVE PARTICIPATION FROM YOU
    • WATCHED NETFLIX FOR SEVEN HOURS INSTEAD OF SLEEPING BECAUSE YOU HAVE ONCE AGAIN MISTAKEN INERTIA FOR REST
    • CONFUSED “SELF-CARE” WITH “SELF-INDULGENCE” AGAIN; YOU ARE INCAPABLE OF EXPERIENCING GENUINE REFRESHMENT OR RESTORATION BUT YOU DO SPEND A LOT OF MONEY AT NAIL SALONS
    • ONCE AGAIN CONFUSED “EMPATHY” FOR “TAKING RESPONSIBILITY” AND INVITED OTHERS TO UNLOAD THEIR EMOTIONAL BURDENS ON YOU WITHOUT FIRST ENSURING RECIPROCITY, WHOOPS
    • ANTICIPATORILY BLAMED OTHER PEOPLE FOR NOT CALLING YOU WITHOUT ONCE ASKING YOURSELF WHY YOU CAN’T CALL THEM
    • ASSUMING ANY TIME SPENT TOGETHER THAT YOU HAD TO INITIATE IS SOMEHOW LESS AUTHENTIC THAN REQUESTS FOR TIME SPENT TOGETHER THAT YOU ACCEPT
    • BELIEVE “PERIODICALLY EXPERIENCING THE HUMAN CONDITION” MEANS SOMETHING IS FUNDAMENTALLY BROKEN WITHIN YOU
    • CONSTANTLY LIE ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS THEN WONDER WHY YOU FEEL LIKE NO ONE KNOWS YOU
    • MISTAKENLY BELIEVE THAT NEGATIVE FEELINGS MUST BE MISTAKES EITHER TO BE AVOIDED OR FIXED RATHER THAN EXPERIENCED
    • DESIRE TO BE FULLY UNDERSTOOD WITHOUT THE CONCOMITANT WILLINGNESS TO FULLY EXPLAIN YOURSELF
    • BELIEVE TRYING AT SOMETHING A LITTLE BIT SHOULD RESULT IN INSTANT PERFECTION AND FIND YOURSELF HORRIFIED AND ASHAMED OF MAKING REALISTIC PROGRESS
    • TRY COCONUT OIL
    • CONVINCED THAT HONESTLY ADMITTING YOUR PROBLEMS WILL DRIVE PEOPLE AWAY BECAUSE NO ONE LIKES COMPLAINING SO INSTEAD YOU OFFER EVERYONE A PISS-POOR SIMULACRUM OF BEING EASY-GOING
    • STILL JUST WAITING FOR THINGS TO HAPPEN TO YOU INSTEAD OF EXPRESSING YOUR DESIRES ALOUD
    • THINK YOU’RE BEING PLAYFUL BUT ACTUALLY YOU JUST GET MEAN WHEN YOU DRINK
    • SPEND ALL YOUR TIME SAYING THINGS LIKE “EITHER’S GOOD” OR “DOESN’T MATTER TO ME” WHEN IN FACT ONLY ONE THING IS GOOD AND IT DOES MATTER TO YOU BUT YOU THINK “NOT EXPRESSING A PREFERENCE” IS THE BEST PERSONALITY TRAIT YOU HAVE TO OFFER OTHERS
    • PEOPLE ACTUALLY MORE AWARE OF YOUR BARELY-CONCEALED CONTEMPT FOR THEIR CHOICES AND RELATIONSHIPS THAN YOU THINK THEY ARE
    • NO GOOD REASON, SORRY

  29. art gallery thing

    featuring: cool art gallery!

    i figured out (halfway anyway) how pagination an collections work! :D
    so here, check out my new page here!!

    still no css, that's a bit further down the pipeline, since before i start fiddling with sass (yeah i am leaning sass, no its not going well) i want to have the base structure and all most of the features from the previous version!

    also in this update i bring you /robots.txt, /sitemap.xml (with a robots.txt), a 404 page and an improved news page!

    im not sure if i'll keep these update notes, but for now i cant be arsed to squash and organize my repo commits haha. for the features coming up next: regina spektor fanpage! and (possibly) other [planned] placeholder pags :D

    -


  30. A Worker Reads History

    Who built the seven gates of Thebes?
    The books are filled with names of kings.
    Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?
    And Babylon, so many times destroyed.
    Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima's houses,
    That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it?
    In the evening
    Wwhen the Chinese wall was finished
    Where did the masons go?
    Imperial Rome is full of arcs of triumph.
    Who reared them up?
    Over whom did the Caesars triumph?
    Byzantium lives in song.
    Were all her dwellings palaces?
    And even in Atlantis of the legend
    The night the seas rushed in,
    The drowning men still bellowed for their slaves.

    Young Alexander conquered India.
    He alone?
    Caesar beat the Gauls.
    Was there not even a cook in his army?
    Phillip of Spain wept as his fleet
    was sunk and destroyed. Were there no other tears?
    Frederick the Great triumphed in the Seven Years War.
    Who triumphed with him?

    Each page a victory
    At whose expense the victory ball?

    Every ten years a great man,
    Who paid the piper?

    So many particulars.
    So many questions.


  31. Who doesn't toy with the thought of suicide sometimes? Or, like, most of the time? Okay, maybe some people don't – like the happy scientist girl named Marie, or Jean-Marc, the superstar whom everyone loves. But you -- when the going gets rough, it's nice to think about your little trap door out of here. Do it. Put your finger on the eject button, see how alive it makes you feel -- the freedom of finality. Think of how much they'll miss you.


  32. Hammond B3 Organ Cistern

    The days I don’t want to kill myself
    are extraordinary. Deep bass. All the people
    in the streets waiting for their high fives
    and leaping, I mean leaping,
    when they see me. I am the sun-filled
    god of love. Or at least an optimistic
    under-secretary. There should be a word for it.
    The days you wake up and do not want
    to slit your throat. Money in the bank.
    Enough for an iced green tea every weekday
    and Saturday and Sunday! It’s like being
    in the armpit of a Hammond B3 organ.
    Just reeks of gratitude and funk.
    The funk of ages. I am not going to ruin
    my love’s life today.
    It’s like the time I said yes
    to gray sneakers but then the salesman said
    Wait. And there, out of the back room,
    like the bakery’s first biscuits: bright-blue kicks.
    Iridescent. Like a scarab! Oh, who am I kidding,
    it was nothing like a scarab! It was like
    bright. blue. fucking. sneakers! I did not
    want to die that day. Oh, my God.
    Why don’t we talk about it? How good it feels.
    And if you don’t know then you’re lucky
    but also you poor thing. Bring the band out on the stoop.
    Let the whole neighborhood hear. Come on, Everybody.
    Say it with me nice and slow
    no pills no cliff no brains on the floor
    Bring the bass back. no rope no hose not today, Satan.
    Every day I wake up with my good fortune
    and news of my demise. Don’t keep it from me.
    Why don’t we have a name for it?
    Bring the bass back. Bring the band out on the stoop.
    Hallelujah!


  33. If I have one message to give to the secular American people, it's that the world is not divided into countries. The world is not divided between East and West. You are American, I am Iranian, we don’t know each other, but we talk and we understand each other perfectly.

    The difference between you and your government is much bigger than the difference between you and me. And the difference between me and my government is much bigger than the difference between me and you. And our governments are very much the same


  34. monumental arms


    REGINA SPEKTOR SHRINE!

    -


  35. NEVER FOR ME!


    ALLIED MASTERCOMPUTER SPEKTOR SHRINE!

    -


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// function makeImages(list, id, tag, amount) { var shuffled = list.sort(() => 0.5 - Math.random()); shuffled = shuffled.slice(0, amount); var container = document.getElementById(id) // shuffled.forEach((filename) => { const image = document.createElement('img'); image.classList.add(tag); image.classList.add("freezeframe") //used in freezergifjs image.src = filename; container.appendChild(image); }) } // // function main() { makeImages(blinkies, "blinkies", "blinkie", 5) makeImages(buttons, "buttons", "button", 10) } // if (typeof "addRVLoadEvent" != "function") function addRVLoadEvent(funky) { var oldonload = window.onload; if (typeof oldonload != "function") window.onload = funky; else window.onload = function () { if (oldonload) oldonload(); funky(); }; } main()

    -


  37. one step backwards...

    keeping it simple

    changes:

    • a lot of internal eleventy stuff that you can check out in my (repository)[https://github.com/emlos/internautica.online] on github
    • adjusted a bit of css and removed some graphics + added some of mine
    • each tag on the art page has its' own page too now!
    • some things that are not yet visible but trust me i am trying to work on things....

    the shrines remain placeholded, since i have been going through things, but i have to keep fighting the urge to ad css so... maybe its time now?

    anyway, im trying to write something... something useful that is, but it turns out i have nothing to say :(
    well, till next time!

    -


  38. Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal

    After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, Please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she Did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used— She stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late, Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and Would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and Found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering Questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag— And was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers— Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands— Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped —has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.


  39. An Anthropologist On Mars

    This was the case with the B.s, the autistic family I had visited in California—the older son, like the parents, with Asperger’s syndrome, the younger with classical autism. When I first arrived at their house, the whole atmosphere was so “normal” that I wondered if I had been misinformed, or if I had not, perhaps, ended up at the wrong house, for there was nothing obviously “autistic” about them or it. It was only after I had settled down that I noticed the well-used trampoline, where the whole family, at times, likes to jump and flap their arms; the huge library of science fiction; the strange cartoons pinned to the bathroom wall; and the ludicrously explicit directions, pinned up in the kitchen, for cooking, laying the table, and washing up—suggesting that these had to be performed in a fixed, formulaic way (this, I learned later, was an autistic in-joke). Mrs. B. spoke of herself, at one point, as “bordering on normality,” but then made clear what such “bordering” meant: “We know the rules and conventions of the ‘normal,’ but there is no actual transit. You act normal, you learn the rules, and obey them, but ...”

    “You learn to ape human behavior,” her husband interpolated. “I still don’t understand what’s behind the social conventions. You observe the front—but ...”

    The B.s, then, had learned a front of normality, which was necessary, given their professional lives, their living in the suburbs and driving a car, their having a son in regular school, etc. But they had no illusions about themselves. They recognized their own autism, and they had recognized each other’s, at college, with a sense of such affinity and delight that it was inevitable they would marry. “It was as if we had known each other for a million years,” Mrs. B. said. While they were well aware of many of the problems of their autism, they had a respect for their differentness, even a pride. Indeed, in some autistic people this sense of radical and ineradicable differentness is so profound as to lead them to regard themselves, half-jokingly, almost as members of another species (“They beamed us down on the transporter together,” as the B.s liked to say), and to feel that autism, while it may be seen as a medical condition, and pathologized as a syndrome, must also be seen as a whole mode of being, a deeply different mode or identity, one that needs to be conscious (and proud) of itself.


  40. bechdel butch woman

    - Alison Bechdel (Fun Home)


  41. Fragen eines lesenden Arbeiters

    Wer baute das siebentorige Theben?
    In den Büchern stehen die Namen von Königen.
    Haben die Könige die Felsbrocken herbeigeschlappt?
    Und das mehrmals zerstörte Babylon -
    Wer baute es so viele Male auf? In welchen Häusern
    Des goldstrahlenden Lima wohnten die Bauleute?
    Wohin gingen an dem Abend,
    an dem die chinesische Mauer fertig war,
    Die Maurer?
    Das große Rom ist voll von Triumphbögen.
    Wer errichtete sie?
    Über wen triumphierten die Cäsaren?
    Hatte das vielbesungene Byzanz
    Nur Paläste für seine Bewohner?
    Selbst in dem sagenhaften Atlantis
    Brüllten in der Nacht, wo das Meer es verschlang
    Die Ersaufenden nach ihren Sklaven.

    Der junge Alexander eroberte Indien.
    Er allein?
    Cäsar schlug die Gallier.
    Hatte er nicht wenigstens einen Koch bei sich?
    Philipp von Spanien weinte, als seine Flotte
    Untergegangen war. Weinte sonst niemand?
    Friedrich der Zweite siegte im Siebenjährigen Krieg.
    Wer siegte außer ihm?

    Jede Seite ein Sieg.
    Wer kochte den Siegesschmaus?

    Alle zehn Jahre ein großer Mann.
    Wer bezahlte die Speisen?

    So viele Berichte.
    So viele Fragen.


  42. The Long Leg

    hopper the long leg

    - Edward Hopper


  43. How To Watch Your Brother Die

    When the call somes, be calm.
    Say to your wife, "My brother is dying. I have to fly
    to California."
    Try not to be shocked that he already looks like
    a cadaver.
    Say to the young man sitting by your brother's side,
    "I'm his brother."
    Try not to be shocked when the young man says,
    "I'm his lover. Thanks for coming."

    Listen to the doctor with a steel face on.
    Sign the necessary forms.
    Tell the doctor you will take care of everything.
    Wonder why doctors are so remote.

    Watch the lover's eyes as they stare into
    your brother's eyes as they stare into
    space.
    Wonder what they see there.
    Remember the time he was jealous and
    opened your eyebrow with a sharp stick.
    Forgive him out loud
    even if he can't
    understand you.
    Realize the scar will be
    all that's left of him.

    Over coffee in the hospital cafeteria
    say to the lover, "You're an extremely good-looking
    young man."
    Hear him say,
    "I never thought I was good enough looking to
    deserve your brother."

    "Watch the tears well up in his eyes. Say,
    I'm sorry. I don't know what it means to be
    the lover of another man."
    Hear him say,
    "Its just like a wife, only the commitment is
    deeper because the odds against you are so much
    greater."
    Say nothing, but
    take his hand like a brother's.

    Drive to Mexico for unproven drugs that might
    help him live longer.
    Explain what they are to the border guard.
    Fill with rage when he informs you,
    "You can't bring those across."
    Begin to grow loud.
    Feel the lover's hand on your arm
    restraining you. See in the guard's eye
    how much a man can hate another man.
    Say to the lover, "How can you stand it?"
    Hear him say, "You get used to it."
    Think of one of your children getting used to
    another man's hatred.

    Call your wife on the telephone. Tell her,
    "He hasn't much time.
    I'll be home soon." Before you hang up say,
    "How could anyone's commitment be deeper than
    a husband and a wife?" Hear her say,
    "Please. I don't want to know all the details."
    When he slips into an irrevocable coma,
    hold his lover in your arms while he sobs,
    no longer strong. Wonder how much longer
    you will be able to be strong.
    Feel how it feels to hold a man in your arms
    whose arms are used to holding men.
    Offer God anything to bring your brother back.
    Know you have nothing God could possibly want.
    Curse God, but do not
    abandon Him.

    Stare at the face of the funeral director
    when he tells you he will not
    embalm the body for fear of
    contamination. Let him see in your eyes
    how much a man can hate another man.

    Stand beside a casket covered in flowers,
    white flowers. Say,
    "Thank you for coming," to each of seven hundred men
    who file past in tears, some of them
    holding hands. Know that your brother's life
    was not what you imagined. Overhear two
    mourners say, "I wonder who'll be next?" and
    "I don't care anymore,
    as long as it isn't you."

    Arrange to take an early flight home.
    His lover will drive you to the airport.
    When your flight is announced say,
    awkwardly, "If I can do anything, please
    let me know." Do not flinch when he says,
    "Forgive yourself for not wanting to know him
    after he told you. He did."
    Stop and let it soak in. Say,
    "He forgave me, or he knew himself?"
    "Both," the lover will say, not knowing what else
    to do. Hold him like a brother while he
    kisses you on the cheek. Think that
    you haven't been kissed by a man since
    your father died. Think,
    "This is no moment to be strong."

    Fly first class and drink Scotch. Stroke
    your split eyebrow with a finger and
    think of your brother alive. Smile
    at the memory and think
    how your children will feel in your arms
    warm and friendly and without challenge.


  44. Markierung einer Wende

    19441945
    krieg krieg
    krieg krieg
    krieg krieg
    krieg krieg
    krieg mai
    krieg
    krieg
    krieg
    krieg
    krieg
    krieg
    krieg


  45. Moby Dick

    moby dick gerard dubois

    - Gerard Dubois


  46. First They Came...

    First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out—
    Because I was not a communist.
    First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
    Because I was not a socialist.
    Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
    Because I was not a trade unionist.
    Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
    Because I was not a Jew.
    Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak for me.


  47. Breaking Home Ties

    rockwell breaking home ties

    - Norman Rockwell


  48. Shiner

    rockwell shiner

    - Norman Rockwell


  49. The Problem We All Live With

    rockwell the problem we all live with

    - Norman Rockwell


  50. vewn bride

    - vewn


  51. vewn firing squad

    - vewn


  52. vewn full house

    - vewn


  53. vewn girlsnight

    - vewn


  54. vewn warzone

    - vewn


  55. Bee Orchid

    xkcd bee orchid

    - xkcd


  56. Helping

    xkcd helping

    - xkcd


  57. How it Works

    xkcd how it works

    - xkcd


  58. Useless

    xkcd useless

    - xkcd


  59. Wikipedian Protester

    xkcd wikipedian protester

    - xkcd


    • A Good Day

      Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
      took the bus home,
      carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
      and cooked myself dinner.
      You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
      This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
      worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
      only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
      and slept like a rock.
      Flossed in the morning,
      locked my door,
      and remembered to buy eggs.
      My mother is proud of me.
      It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
      She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
      with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
      But she is proud.
      See, she remembers what came before this.
      The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
      how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
      She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
      These were the bad days.
      My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
      My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
      Depression, is a good lover.
      So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
      And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
      That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
      It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
      Today, I slept in until 10,
      cleaned every dish I own,
      fought with the bank,
      took care of paperwork.
      You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
      I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
      but I don’t speak for others anymore,
      and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
      And my mother is proud of me.
      I burned down a house of depression,
      I painted over murals of greyscale,
      and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
      But today, I want to live.
      I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
      or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
      I just cleaned my bathroom,
      did the laundry,
      called my brother.
      Told him, “it was a good day.”

      - Kait Rokowski


    • Joy Division, The Moonlight Club, 4 April 1980, West Hampstead, London, England

      king joy division


    • Thirty-six Views of the Moon

      ebtekar thirty six views of moon


    • You are inconsistent. You do not need to have a grand unified theory about what to do about Michael Jackson. You are a hypocrite, over and over. You love Annie Hall but you can barely stand to look at a painting by Picasso. You are not responsible for solving this unreconciled contradiction. In fact, you will solve nothing by means of your consumption; the idea that you can is a dead end.
      The way you consume art doesn't make you a bad person, or a good one. You'll have to find some other way to accomplish that.


    • Who remembers the Armenians?

      I remember them
      and I ride the nightmare bus with them
      each night
      and my coffee, this morning
      I'm drinking it with them

      You, murderer -
      Who remembers you?


    • Four Darks in Red

      rothko four darks in red

      - Mark Rothko


    • How to Read Ezra Pound

      At the poets’ panel,
      after an hour of poets debating Ezra Pound,
      Abe the Lincoln veteran,
      remembering
      the Spanish Civil War,
      raised his hand and said:
      If I knew that
      a fascist
      was a great poet,
      I’d shoot him
      anyway.


    • Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.

      - Vincent van Gogh


    first -->

    -


  60. Sitemap: sitemap.xml User-agent: * Disallow: User-agent: GPTBot Disallow: /

    -


  61. Dante in Sardina

    The classics lie to you: there is no romance
    to death. I wake up, brush my teeth, and find out
    that my friend has hung himself in a public park.
    More brandy, please!, the living around me shout, then put
    their sunglasses on. He adored this island, the red house
    where the pool was covered in wasps and we drank wine
    for lunch. We played chess with half our bodies in water
    until we got headaches from the sun. He let me win
    and only laughed when I recited Dante to him:
    Nature follows--as she takes her course—
    the Divine Intellect and the Divine Art...
    Nature is not like art, he said, because it's functional
    before it is beautiful. The black, Volcanic hills
    could not sway him. Neither could the gecko
    falling asleep on his feet every afternoon. He is ash
    in a small jar now, or that is what science says.
    Here, the river has dried out, the tomato vines
    fouled. Every day the world inches closer
    to ruin and still I am astonished that bones and flesh
    contain the spirit, and that it can burn.
    Volcanic sediment and crushed seashells
    have turned the sand a tangy red, lifetimes of everything
    contaminating each other. And then emptying the jar
    into the clear, green water. Darling, I say to the sea,
    a feeling of inadequacy rushing through me—
    above us are Dante's inscrutable stars, mocking me
    for my terribly human need for connection. And below
    is the coast, where the waves are just waves, taking one thing
    and returning another: bottle caps, warm seagrass.


  62. How to Be a Dog

    If you want to be a dog, first you must learn to wait. You must wait
    all day until somebody returns, and if somebody returns late, you
    must learn to wait until then. Then you must learn to speak in one
    of the voices available to you, high and light or mellow thick and
    low or middle-range and terse. Whichever voice you learn to speak,
    you will meet somebody who does not like you because of it, they
    will be wary or annoyed or you will remind them of something or
    someone else. Once you have learned to speak you must learn not to
    speak unless you absolutely must, or to speak as much as you feel
    you must regardless of how many times you are told to stop, or sit,
    or placed behind a door—this will depend on what kind of a dog you
    want to be. And indeed there are many kinds. It may not feel as though
    you get to choose, and that too is a kind of dog. Next you must learn
    to relinquish all control over everything you might wish to control. You
    must learn to prefer to be led about by the neck on a piece of string,
    or staked to a neglected lawn by a length of chain. You must learn, once
    you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better
    to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—
    a fugitive is also a kind of dog. Of course you must learn to love, to
    love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much
    as the violence of your own love. You must learn to be confused but
    never disappointed by a deficiency of love. You must give up your
    children and not know why. You must lose yourself wholly in activity;
    you must never feel an itch that you do not scratch. You must learn how
    to wait at the foot of the bed and hope, silently, that somebody is drunk
    enough or lonely enough to invite you up, and you must learn not to show
    your excitement too much or overplay your hand. If you want to be a dog,
    you must learn to believe that you are not in fact a dog at all.


  63. When her mother is in the parlor
    we sit
    LIKE           THIS
    But after mother retires
    we always sit
    LIKETHIS

    And sometimes (don't be shocked!)
    we sit
    LIKE
    THIS

    - Feather River Bulletin, Quincy, California, March 20, 1924


  64. Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realise you didn’t paint it very well.


  65. Tagged “art”

    1. Bilinguals overwhelmingly report that they feel like different people in different languages. It is often assumed that the mother tongue is the language of the true self. […] But, it first languages are reservoirs of emotion, second languages can be rivers undammed, freeing their speakers to ride different currents.


    2. A Bookmark near the

      He loves history. He wanted to write a biography of John Quincy Adams. I, shamefully, knew almost nothing about John Quincy Adams, so I went online and bought every biography of him I could find. One day, he called me, claiming that we wouldn’t work out long term. He said he loved me but that we had different interests. “What does love mean to you?” I said. “That’s an impossible question,” he replied. I, however, find love to be quite simple. Love is the stack of biographies on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end.


    3. Cherry

      When Daddy comes in, he carries you to bed. Is there anything you feel like you could eat, Pokey? Anything at all?

      All you can imagine putting in your mouth is a cold plum, one with really tight skin on the outside but gum-shocking sweetness inside. And he and your mother discuss where he might find some this late in the season. Mother says hell I don’t know. Further north, I’d guess.

      The next morning, you wake up in your bed and sit up. Mother says, Pete, I think she’s up. He hollers in, You ready for breakfast, Pokey. Then he comes in grinning, still in his work clothes from the night before. He’s holding a farm bushel. The plums he empties onto the bed river toward you through folds in the quilt. If you stacked them up, they’d fill the deepest bin at the Piggly Wiggly.

      Damned if I didn’t get the urge to drive to Arkansas last night, he says.

      Your mother stands behind him saying he’s pure USDA crazy.

      Fort Smith, Arkansas. Found a roadside stand out there with a feller selling plums. And I says, Buddy, I got a little girl sick back in Texas. She’s got a hanker for plums and ain’t nothing else gonna do.

      It’s when you sink your teeth into the plum that you make a promise. The skin is still warm from riding in the sun in Daddy’s truck, and the nectar runs down your chin.

      And you snap out of it. Or are snapped out of it. Never again will you lay a hand against yourself, not so long as there are plums to eat and somebody-anybody-who gives enough of a damn to haul them to you. So long as you bear the least nibblet of love for any other creature in this dark world, though in love portions are never stingy. There are no smidgens or pinches, only rolling abundance. That’s how you acquire the resolution for survival that the coming years are about to demand. You don’t earn it. It’s given.


    4. What is it that the child has to teach?

      The child naively believes that everything should be fair and everyone should be honest, that only good should prevail, that everybody should have what they want and there should be no pain or sadness. The child believes the world should be perfect and is outraged to discover it is not.

      And the child is right.


    5. Differences of Opinion

      He tells her that the earth is flat—
      He knows the facts, and that is that.
      In altercations fierce and long
      She tries her best to prove him wrong.
      But he has learned to argue well.
      He calls her arguments unsound
      And often asks her not to yell.
      She cannot win. He stands his ground.

      The planet goes on being round.


    6. You: What is this strange feeling I keep having? This cold... even now?

      Shivers: I AM LA REVACHOLIÈRE. I AM THE CITY.

      You: What do you mean, you are the city?

      Shivers: I AM A FRAGMENT OF THE WORLD SPIRIT, THE GENIUS LOCI OF REVACHOL. MY HEART IS THE WIND CORRIDOR. THE BOTTOM OF MY AIR IS RED. I HAVE A HUNDRED THOUSAND LUMINOUS ARMS. COME MORNING, I CARRY INDUSTRIAL DUST AND LET IT SETTLE ON TREE LEAVES. I SHAKE THE DUST FROM THOSE LEAVES AND ONTO YOUR COAT. I'VE SEEN YOU, I'VE SEEN YOU! I'VE SEEN YOU WITH HER — AND I'VE SEEN YOU WITHOUT HER. I'VE SEEN YOU ON THE CRESCENT OF THE HILL.

      You: How are you talking to me?

      Shivers: THE MODULATIONS OF MY VOICE ARE NOTED DOWN WITH THERMOMETERS AND BAROMETERS. YOU FEEL ME IN YOUR NOSTRILS, ON THE LITTLE HAIRS ON THE BACK OF YOUR NECK. I ALSO RESIDE IN YOUR LUNGS AND VESTIGIAL ORGANS. EVERYWHERE THERE IS SPACE.

      Rhetoric: All this eloquence — it's in service of something. She's afraid.

      You: What are you afraid of?

      Shivers: DEATH — IT IS TERRIFYING. I NEED YOU TO PROTECT ME FROM DEATH. I CANNOT PERISH. LOOK AT ME. I CANNOT END. IN 22 YEARS, THE FIRST SHOT WILL BE FIRED. NOT A SHOT FROM A GUN — AN ATOMIC DEVICE THAT WILL LEVEL ALL OF ME. ALL OF ME.

      You: But... what can I do about it?

      Shivers: YOU ARE AN OFFICER OF THE CITIZENS MILITIA. YOU MOVE THROUGH MY STREETS FREELY IN MOTOR CARRIAGES AND ON FOOT. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THE HIDDEN PLACES. YOU ALSO CIRCULATE AMONG THOSE WHO ARE HIDDEN. I NEED YOU. YOU CAN KEEP ME ON THIS EARTH. BE VIGILANT. I LOVE YOU.


    7. Fandom for Robots

      Computron feels no emotion towards the animated television show titled Hyperdimension Warp Record (超次元 ワープ レコード). After all, Computron does not have any emotion circuits installed, and is thus constitutionally incapable of experiencing “excitement,” “hatred,” or “frustration.” It is completely impossible for Computron to experience emotions such as “excitement about the seventh episode of HyperWarp,” “hatred of the anime’s short episode length” or “frustration that Friday is so far away.”

      Computron checks his internal chronometer, as well as the countdown page on the streaming website. There are twenty-two hours, five minutes, forty-six seconds, and twelve milliseconds until 2 am on Friday (Japanese Standard Time). Logically, he is aware that time is most likely passing at a normal rate. The Simak Robotics Museum is not within close proximity of a black hole, and there is close to no possibility that time is being dilated. His constant checking of the chronometer to compare it with the countdown page serves no scientific purpose whatsoever.

      After fifty milliseconds, Computron checks the countdown page again.


      The Simak Robotics Museum’s commemorative postcard set ($15.00 for a set of twelve) describes Computron as “The only known sentient robot, created in 1954 by Doctor Karel Alquist to serve as a laboratory assistant. No known scientist has managed to recreate the doctor’s invention. Its steel-framed box-and-claw design is characteristic of the period.” Below that, in smaller print, the postcard thanks the Alquist estate for their generous donation.

      In the museum, Computron is regarded as a quaint artefact, and plays a key role in the Robotics Then and Now performance as an example of the “Then.” After the announcer’s introduction to robotics, Computron appears on stage, answers four standard queries from the audience as proof of his sentience, and steps off the stage to make way for the rest of the performance, which ends with the android-bodied automaton TETSUCHAN showcasing its ability to breakdance.

      Today’s queries are likely to be similar to the rest. A teenage girl waves at the announcer and receives the microphone.

      “Hi, Computron. My question is… have you watched anime before?”

      [Yes,] Computron vocalises. [I have viewed the works of the renowned actress Anna May Wong. Doctor Alquist enjoyed her movies as a child.]

      “Oh, um, not that,” the girl continues. “I meant Japanese animation. Have you ever watched this show called Hyperdimension Warp Record?”

      [I have not.]

      “Oh, okay, I was just thinking that you really looked like one of the characters. But since you haven’t, maybe you could give HyperWarp a shot! It’s really good, you might like it! There are six episodes out so far, and you can watch it on—”

      The announcer cuts the girl off, and hands the microphone over to the next querent, who has a question about Doctor Alquist’s research. After answering two more standard queries, Computron returns to his storage room to answer his electronic mail, which consists of queries from elementary school students. He picks up two metal styluses, one in each of his grasping claws, and begins tapping them on the computing unit’s keyboard, one key at a time. Computron explains the difference between a robot and an android to four students, and provides the fifth student with a hyperlink to Daniel Clement Dennett III’s writings on consciousness.

      As Computron readies himself to enter sleep mode, he recalls the teenage girl’s request that he “give HyperWarp a shot.” It is only logical to research the Japanese animation Hyperdimension Warp Record in order to address queries from future visitors. The title, when entered into a search engine on the World Wide Web, produces about 957,000 results (0.27 seconds).

      Computron manoeuvres the mouse pointer to the third hyperlink, which offers to let him “watch Hyperdimension Warp Record FULL episodes streaming online high quality.” From the still image behind the prominent “play” button, the grey boxy figure standing beside the large-eyed blue-haired human does bear an extremely slight resemblance to Computron’s design. It is only logical to press the “play” button on the first episode, in order to familiarise himself with recent discourse about robots in popular culture.

      The series’ six episodes are each approximately 25 minutes long. Between watching the series, viewing the online bulletin boards, and perusing the extensively footnoted fan encyclopedia, Computron does not enter sleep mode for ten hours, thirty-six minutes, two seconds, and twenty milliseconds.


      Hyperdimension Warp Record (超次元 ワープ レコード Chōjigen Wāpu Rekōdo, literal translation: Super Dimensional Warp Record) is a Japanese anime series set in space in the far future. The protagonist, Ellison, is an escapee from a supposedly inescapable galactic prison. Joined by a fellow escapee, Cyro (short for Cybernetic Robot), the two make their way across the galaxy to seek revenge. The targets of their revenge are the Seven Sabers of Paradise, who have stolen the hyperdimensional warp unit from Cyro’s creator and caused the death of Ellison’s entire family.

      Episode seven of HyperWarp comes with the revelation that the Second Saber, Ellison’s identical twin, had murdered their parents before faking her own death. After Cyro and Ellison return to the Kosmogram, the last segment of the episode unfolds without dialogue. There is a slow pan across the spaceship’s control area, revealing that Ellison has indulged in the human pastime known as “crying” before falling asleep in the captain’s chair. His chest binder is stained with blood from the wound on his collarbone. Cyro reaches over, gently using his grabbing claw to loosen Ellison’s binder, and drapes a blanket over him. An instrumental version of the end theme plays as Cyro gets up from his seat, making his way to the recharging bay at the back of the ship. From the way his footfalls are animated, it is clear that Cyro is trying his best to avoid making any noise as he walks.

      The credits play over a zoomed-out shot of the Kosmogram making its way to the next exoplanet, a tiny pinpoint of bright blue in the vast blackness of space.

      The preview for the next episode seems to indicate that the episode will focus on the Sabers’ initial attempt to activate the hyperdimensional warp unit. There is no mention of Cyro or Ellison at all.

      During the wait for episode eight, Computron discovers a concept called “fanfiction.”


      While “fanfiction” is meant to consist of “fan-written stories about characters or settings from an original work of fiction,” Computron observes that much of the HyperWarp fanfiction bears no resemblance to the actual characters or setting. For instance, the series that claims to be a “spin-off focusing on Powerful!Cyro” seems to involve Cyro installing many large-calibre guns onto his frame and joining the Space Marines, which does not seem relevant to his quest for revenge or the retrieval of the hyperdimensional warp unit. Similarly, the “high school fic” in which Cyro and Ellison study at Hyperdimension High fails to acknowledge the fact that formal education is reserved for the elite class in the HyperWarp universe.

      Most of the fanfiction set within the actual series seems particularly inaccurate. The most recent offender is EllisonsWife’s “Rosemary for Remembrance,” which fails to acknowledge the fact that Cyro does not have human facial features, and thus cannot “touch his nose against Ellison’s hair, breathing in the scent of sandalwood, rosemary, and something uniquely him” before “kissing Ellison passionately, needily, hungrily, his tongue slipping into Ellison’s mouth.”

      Computron readies his styluses and moves the cursor down to the comment box, prepared to leave anonymous “constructive criticism” for EllisonsWife, when he detects a comment with relevant keywords.

      bjornruffian:
      Okay, I’ve noticed this in several of your fics and I was trying not to be too harsh, but when it got to the kissing scene I couldn’t take it anymore. Cyro can’t touch his nose against anything, because he doesn’t have a nose! Cyro can’t slip his tongue into anyone’s mouth, because he doesn’t have a tongue! Were we even watching the same series?? Did you skip all the parts where Cyro is a metal robot with a cube-shaped head?!

      EllisonsWife:
      Who are you, the fandom police?? I’m basing Cyro’s design on this piece of fanart (link here) because it looks better than a freakin metal box!! Anyway, I put DON’T LIKE DON’T READ in the author’s notes!!! If you hate the way I write them so much, why don’t you just write your own????

      Computron is incapable of feeling hatred for anything, as that would require Doctor Alquist to have installed emotion circuits during his creation.

      However, due to Computron’s above-average procedural knowledge, he is capable of following the directions to create an account on fanficarchive.org.


      …and Ellison manoeuvred his flesh hands in a claw-like motion, locking them with Cyro’s own grasping claws. His soft human body pressed against the hard lines of Cyro’s proprietary alloy, in a manner which would have generated wear and tear had Cyro’s body not been of superior make. Fluids leaked from Ellison’s eyes. No fluids leaked from Cyro’s ocular units, but…

      Comments (3)
      DontGotRhythm:
      What the hell? Have you ever met a human? This reads like an alien wrote it.

      tattered_freedom_wings:
      uhhh this is kinda weird but i think i liked it?? not sure about the box thing though

      bjornruffian:
      OH MY GODDDD. :DDDD Finally, someone who doesn’t write human-shaped robot-in-name-only Cyro! Some of Ellison’s characterisation is a little awkward—I don’t think he would say all that mushy stuff about Cyro’s beautiful boxy shape??—but I love your Cyro! If this is just your first fic, I can’t wait for you to write more!!


      Computron has been spending less time in sleep mode after Episode Thirteen’s cliffhanger, and has spent his time conducting objective discussions about HyperWarp’s appeal with commenters on various video streaming sites and anonymous message boards.

      As he is about to reply to the latest missive about his lack of genitalia and outside social activities, which is technically correct, his internal chrono-meter indicates that it is time for the Robotics Then and Now performance.

      “So, I was wondering, have you ever watched Hyperdimension Warp Record? There’s this character called Cyro that—”

      [Yes, I am aware of HyperWarp,] Computron says. [I have taken the “How To Tell If Your Life Is HyperWarp” quiz online, and it has indicated that I am “a Hyper-Big HyperWarp Fan!” I have repeatedly viewed the scene between Ellison and Cyro at the end of Episode Seven, and recently I have left a “like” on bjornruffian’s artwork of what may have happened shortly after that scene, due to its exceptional accuracy. The show is widely regarded as “this season’s sleeper hit” and has met with approval from a statistically significant number of critics. If other members of the audience wish to view this series, there are thirteen episodes out so far, and they can be viewed on—] The announcer motions to him, using the same gesture she uses when audience members are taking too long to talk. Computron falls silent until the announcer chooses the next question, which is also the last due to time constraints.

      After TETSUCHAN has finished its breakdance and showcased its newly-programmed ability to pop-and-lock, the announcer speaks to Computron backstage. She requests that he take less time for the question-and-answer segment in the future.

      [Understood,] Computron says, and returns to his storage room to check his inbox again.


      Private Message from bjornruffian:
      Hi RobotFan,
      I noticed you liked my art (thanks!) and you seem to know a LOT about robots judging from your fic (and, well, your name). I’m doing a fancomic about Ellison and Cyro being stranded on one of the desert-ish exoplanets while they try to fix the Kosmogram, but I want to make sure I’m drawing Cyro’s body right. Are there any references you can recommend for someone who’s looking to learn more about robots? Like, the classic kind, not the android kind? It’d be great if they’re available online, especially if they have pictures—I’ve found some books with photos but they’re WAAAAY more than I can afford :\\

      Thank you for any help you can offer! I’m really looking forward to your next fic!


      Shortly after reading bjornruffian’s message, Computron visits the Early Robotics section of the museum. It has shrunk significantly over the years, particularly after the creation of the “Redefining Human,” “Androids of the Future,” and “Drone Zone” sections. It consists of several information panels, a small collection of tin toys, and the remnants of all three versions of Hexode the robot.

      In Episode 14 of Hyperdimension Warp Record, Cyro visits a deserted exoplanet alone to investigate the history of the hyperdimension warp drive, and finds himself surrounded by the deactivated bodies of robots of similar make, claws outstretched, being slowly ground down by the gears of a gigantic machine. The “Robot Recycler” scene is frequently listed as one of that year’s top ten most shocking moments in anime.

      On 7 June 1957, the third version of Hexode fails Doctor Alquist’s mirror test for the hundredth time, proving that it has no measurable self-awareness. Computron watches Doctor Alquist smash the spanner against Hexode’s face, crumpling its nose and lips. Oil leaks from its ocular units as it falls to the floor with a metallic thud. Its vocal synthesiser crackles and hisses.

      “You godforsaken tin bucket,” Doctor Alquist shouts. “To hell with you.” If Doctor Alquist were to raise the spanner to Computron, it is likely that Doctor Alquist will not have an assistant for any future robotics experiments. Computron stays still, standing in front of the mirror, silently observing the destruction of Hexode so he can gather up its parts later.

      When Computron photographs Hexode’s display case, he is careful to avoid capturing any part of himself in the reflection.


      [bjornruffian] Oh man, thank you SO MUCH for installing chat just for this! Anyway, I really appreciate your help with the script so far (I think we can call it a collab by this point?). And thanks for the exhibit photos! Was it a lot of trouble? I checked the website and that museum is pretty much in the middle of nowhere…

      —File Transfer of “THANK YOU ROBOTFAN.png” from “bjornruffian” started.

      —File Transfer of “THANK YOU ROBOTFAN.png” from “bjornruffian” finished.

      [bjornruffian] So I’ve got a few questions about page 8 in the folder I shared, can you take a look at the second panel from the top? I figured his joint would be all gummed up by the sand, so I thought I’d try to do an X-ray view thing as a closeup… if you have any idea how the circuits are supposed to be, could you double-check?

      [bjornruffian] Okay, you’re taking really long to type, this is making me super nervous I did everything wrong :\

      [RobotFan] Apologies

      [RobotFan] I

      [RobotFan] Am not fast at typing

      [bjornruffian] Okaaay, I’ll wait on the expert here

      [RobotFan] The circuit is connected incorrectly and the joint mechanism is incorrect as well

      [bjornruffian] Ughhhhh I knew it was wrong!! DDD:

      [bjornruffian] I wish the character sheets came with schematics or something, I’ve paused the flashback scenes with all the failed robots like ten billion times to take screenshots >:\

      [RobotFan] Besides the scenes in Episode 14, there are other shots of Cyro’s schematics in Episode 5 (17:40:18 and 20:13:50) as well as Episode 12 (08:23:14)

      —File Transfer of “schematic-screenshots.zip” from “RobotFan” started.

      —File Transfer of “schematic-screenshots.zip” from “RobotFan” finished.

      [bjornruffian] THANK YOU

      [bjornruffian] I swear you’re some sort of angel or something

      [RobotFan] That is incorrect

      [RobotFan] I am merely a robot


      There are certain things in the museum’s storage room that would benefit bjornruffian’s mission of completing her Cyro/Ellison comic. Computron and Hexode’s schematics are part of the Alquist Collection, which is not a priority for the museum’s digitisation project due to a perceived lack of value. As part of the Alquist Collection himself, there should be no objection to Computron retrieving the schematics.

      As Computron grasps the doorknob with his left claw, he catches a glimpse of Cyro from Episode 15 in the door’s glass panels, his ocular units blazing yellow with determination after overcoming his past. In fan parlance, this is known as Determined!Cyro, and has only been seen during fight scenes thus far. It is illogical to have Determined!Cyro appear in this context, or in this location.

      Computron looks at the dusty glass again, and sees only a reflection of his face.


      [RobotFan] I have a large file to send to you

      [RobotFan] To be precise, four large files

      [RobotFan] The remaining three will be digitised and sent at a later date

      —File Transfer of “alquist-archive-scans-pt1.zip” from “RobotFan” started.

      —File Transfer of “alquist-archive-scans-pt1.zip” from “RobotFan” finished.

      [bjornruffian] OMG THIS IS AWESOME

      [bjornruffian] Where did you get this?? Did you rob that museum?? This is PERFECT for that other Cyro/Ellison thing I’ve been thinking about doing after this stupid desert comic is over!!

      [bjornruffian] It would be great if I had someone to help me with writing Cyro, HINT HINT

      [RobotFan] I would be happy to assist if I had emotion circuits

      [RobotFan] However, my lack of emotion circuits means I cannot be “happy” about performing any actions

      [RobotFan] Nonetheless, I will assist

      [RobotFan] To make this an equitable trade as is common in human custom, you may also provide your opinion on some recurrent bugs that readers have reported in my characterisation of Ellison

      [bjornruffian] YESSSSSSSS :DDDDDD


      Rossum, Sulla. “Tin Men and Tin Toys: Examining Real and Fictional Robots from the 1950s.” Journal of Rowendybotics Studies 8.2 (2018): 25-38.

      While the figure of the fictional robot embodies timeless fears of technology and its potential for harm, the physical design of robots real and fictional is often linked to visual cues of modernity. What was once regarded as an “object of the future” can become “overwhelmingly obsolete” within a span of a few years, after advances in technology cause the visual cues of modernity to change (Bloch, 1979). The clawed, lumbering tin-toy-esque designs of the 1950s are now widely regarded as “tin can[s] that should have been recycled long ago” (Williamson, 2017). Notably, most modern critiques of Computron’s design tend to focus on its obsolete analogue dials…

      watch-free-anime | Hyperdimension Warp Record | Episode 23 | Live Chat

      Pyro: Okay, is it just me, or is Cyro starting to get REALLY attractive? I swear I’m not gay (is it gay if it’s a robot) but when he slung Ellison over his shoulder and used his claw to block the Sixth Saber at the same time

      Pyro: HOLY SHIT that sniper scene RIGHT THROUGH THE SCOPE and then he fucking BUMPS ELLISON’S FIST WITH HIS CLAW

      Pyro: Fuck it, I’m gay for Cyro I don’t care, I’ll fucking twiddle his dials all he wants after this episode

      ckwizard: dude youre late, weve been finding cyro hot ever since that scene in episode 15

      ckwizard: you know the one

      ckwizard: where you just see this rectangular blocky shadow lumbering slowly towards first saber with those clunky sound effects

      ckwizard: then his eyebulbs glint that really bright yellow and he bleeps about ACTIVATING KILL MODE and his grabby claws start whirring

      ckwizard: theres a really good fic about it on fanficarchive… actually you might as well check the authors blog out here, hes pretty cyro-obsessed

      ckwizard: his earlier stuff is kinda uneven but the bjorn collabs are good—shes been illustrating his stuff for a while

      Pyro: Okay

      Pyro: I just looked at that thing, you know, the desert planet comic

      Pyro: I think I ship it

      Pyro: OH MAN when Ellison tries the manual repair on the arm joint and Cyro has a FLASHBACK TO THE ROBOT RECYCLER but tries to remind himself he can trust him

      Pyro: Fuck it I DEFINITELY ship it

      ckwizard: join the fucking club

      ckwizard: its the fifth time im watching this episode, this series has ruined my life

      ckwizard: i can’t wait for season 2


      bjorn-robot-collabs posted:

      Hi everyone, bjornruffian and RobotFan here! Thanks for all your comments on our first comic collab! We’re really charmed by the great reception to “In the Desert Sun”—okay, I’m charmed, and RobotFan says he would be charmed if he had the emotion circuits for that (he’s an awesome roleplay partner too! LOVE his sense of humor :DDD).

      ANYWAY! It turns out that RobotFan’s got this awesome collection of retro robot schematics and he’s willing to share, for those of you who want to write about old-school robots or need some references for your art! (HINT HINT: the fandom totally needs more Cyro and Cyro/Ellison before Season 2 hits!) To be honest I’m not sure how legal it is to circulate these scans (RobotFan says it’s fine though), so just reply to this post if you want them and we’ll private message you the links if you promise not to spread them around.

      Also, we’re gonna do another Cyro/Ellison comic in the future, and we’re thinking of making it part of an anthology. If you’d like to contribute comics or illustrations for that, let us know!

      Get ready to draw lots of boxes, people! The robot revolution is coming!
      9,890 replies


    8. First Contact Is Made With A Little Girl Skipping Rocks At A Creek

      Hi! Do you want to share my creekbed? Mama says it isn't my creekbed, it belongs to the world, but I call it mine because I'm the only one who ever uses it. Wanna skip rocks? We can race. I'll even let you have my smoother ones, they're best for skipping. You don't know how? Here, like this. Move that bit more. Your wrists are funny. Your whole body's funny. Mama says that's mean to say, but how can it be mean? Being funny is a good thing. I've got a funny toe. It's smaller than all the others, see? Oh wow, your toes are funny too. No silly, you can't step over there--that's where all the poliwogs live. They're baby frogs. You can stick your fingers in and wiggle at them if you promise to be gentle.

      Boy, you sure got a lot of fingers. Oh, they like you! Aren't they cute? When I grow up, I'm gonna have a whole poliwog family. They'll live in my bathtub. Why do you have so many hands? I wish I had that many hands. I bet you'll be real good at rock skipping. Do you have creeks where you live? I come out here a lot. Sometimes if I'm real quiet, the beavers will come out with their babies. Do you have beavers where you live? They look like this, with their teeth. And they have great big tails that slap the water, like this. They eat trees, and they build houses with them too. Their house is called dam but Mama says I'm not allowed to say that. Grown ups are always telling us what words we can't say, but that's just because they're embarrassed. They say the words by accident a lot. Look! See that? It's a wooly bear! His fur's all orange, and that means it's gonna be a good summer. You wanna meet Mama? Maybe she'll make us some ice cream, since you're a guest. Careful! The big rocks are slippery. Here, hold my hand. This is how I walk with Mama so she won't lose me. I won't let you fall.


    9. Some things could only be written in a foreign language; they are not lost in translation, but conceived by it. Foreign verbs of motion could be the only ways of transporting the ashes of familial memory. After all, a foreign language is like art—an alternative reality, a potential world.


    10. Fragment 147

      someone will remember us
      I say
      even in another time


    11. I Know What You Think of Me,

      We don’t give other people credit for the same interior complexity we take for granted in ourselves, the same capacity for holding contradictory feelings in balance, for complexly alloyed affections, for bottomless generosity of heart and petty, capricious malice. We can’t believe that anyone could be unkind to us and still be genuinely fond of us, although we do it all the time.

      Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.


    12. Habe ich geschwiegen

      Als die Nazis die Kommunisten holten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Kommunist.
      Als sie die Sozialdemokraten einsperrten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Sozialdemokrat.
      Als sie die Gewerkschafter holten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Gewerkschafter.
      Als sie die Juden holten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Jude.
      Als sie mich holten, gab es keinen mehr, der protestieren konnte.


    13. The Committee Weighs In

      I tell my mother
      I’ve won the Nobel Prize.

      Again? she says. Which
      discipline this time?

      It’s a little game
      we play: I pretend

      I’m somebody, she
      pretends she isn’t dead.


    14. Long-term nuclear waste warning messages

      This place is a message... and part of a system of messages... pay attention to it!

      Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.

      This place is not a place of honor... no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here... nothing valued is here.

      What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.

      The danger is in a parvalueticular location... it increases towards a center... the center of danger is here... of a particular size and shape, and below us.

      The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.

      The danger is to the body, and it can kill.

      The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.

      The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.


    15. Ode to Spot

      Felis Cattus, is your taxonomic nomenclature,
      an endothermic quadruped carnivorous by nature?
      Your visual, olfactory and auditory senses
      contribute to your hunting skills, and natural defenses.

      I find myself intrigued by your subvocal oscillations,
      a singular development of cat communications
      that obviates your basic hedonistic predilection
      for a rhythmic stroking of your fur, to demonstrate affection.

      A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents;
      you would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance.
      And when not being utilized to aide in locomotion,
      it often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion.

      O Spot, the complex levels of behaviour you display
      connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array.
      And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend,
      I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.


    16. If all stories were written like science fiction stories

      Roger and Ann needed to meet Sergey in San Francisco.

      “Should we take a train, or a steamship, or a plane?” asked Ann.

      “Trains are too slow, and the trip by steamship around South America would take months,” replied Roger. “We’ll take a plane.”

      He logged onto the central network using his personal computer, and waited while the system verified his identity. With a few keystrokes he entered an electronic ticketing system, and entered the codes for his point of departure and his destination. In moments the computer displayed a list of possible flights, and he picked the earliest one. Dollars were automatically deducted from his personal account to pay for the transaction.

      The planes left from the city airport, which they reached using the city bi-rail. Ann had changed into her travelling outfit, which consisted of a light shirt in polycarbon-derived artifical fabric, which showed off her pert figure, without genetic enhancements, and dark blue pants made of textiles. Her attractive brown hair was uncovered.

      At the airport Roger presented their identification cards to a representative of the airline company, who used her own computer system to check his identity and retrieve his itinerary. She entered a confirmation number, and gave him two passes which gave them access to the boarding area. They now underwent a security inspection, which was required for all airline flights. They handed their luggage to another representative; it would be transported in a separate, unpressurized chamber on the aircraft.

      “Do you think we’ll be flying on a propeller plane? Or one of the newer jets?” asked Ann.

      “I’m sure it will be a jet,” said Roger. “Propeller planes are almost entirely out of date, after all. On the other hand, rocket engines are still experimental. It’s said that when they’re in general use, trips like this will take an hour at most. This one will take up to four hours.”

      After a short wait, they were ushered onto the plane with the other passengers. The plane was an enormous steel cylinder at least a hundred meters long, with sleek backswept wings on which four jet engines were mounted. They glanced into the front cabin and saw the two pilots, consulting a bank of equipment needed the fly the plane. Roger was glad that he did not need to fly the plane himself; it was a difficult profession which required years of training.

      The surprisingly large passenger area was equipped with soft benches, and windows through which they could look down at the countryside as they flew 11 km high at more than 800 km/h. There were nozzles for the pressurized air which kept the atmosphere in the cabin warm and comfortable despite the coldness of the stratosphere.

      “I’m a little nervous,” Ann said, before the plane took off.

      “There’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “These flights are entirely routine. You’re safer than you are in our ground transport cars!”

      Despite his calm words, Roger had to admit to some nervousness as the pilot took off, and the land dropped away below them. He and the other passengers watched out the windows for a long time. With difficulty, he could make out houses and farms and moving vehicles far below.

      “There are more people going to San Francisco today than I would have expected,” he remarked.

      “Some of them may in fact be going elsewhere,” she answered. “As you know, it’s expensive to provide airplane links between all possible locations. We employ a hub system, and people from smaller cities travel first to the hub, and then to their final destination. Fortunately, you found us a flight that takes us straight to San Francisco.”

      When they arrived at the San Francisco airport, agents of the airline company helped them out of their seats and retrieved their luggage, checking the numeric tags to ensure that they were given to the right people.

      “I can hardly believe we’re already in another city,” said Ann. “Just four hours ago we were in Chicago.”

      “We’re not quite there!” corrected Roger. “We’re in the airport, which is some distance from the city, since it requires a good deal of space on the ground, and because of occasional accidents. From here we’ll take a smaller vehicle into the city.”

      They selected one of the hydrocarbon-powered ground transports from the queue which waited outside the airport. The fee was small enough that it was not paid electronically, but using portable dollar tokens. The driver conducted his car unit into the city; though he drove only at 100 km/hr, it felt much faster since they were only a meter from the concrete road surface. He looked over at Ann, concerned that the speed might alarm her; but she seemed to be enjoying the ride. A game girl, and intelligent as well!

      At last the driver stopped his car, and they had arrived. Electronic self-opening doors welcomed them to Sergey’s building. The entire trip had taken less than seven hours.


    17. Opinion: Why Make Fellini the Scapegoat for New Cultural Intolerance?

      "Excuse Me; I Must Have Missed Part of the Movie" (The Week in Review, Nov. 7) cites Federico Fellini as an example of a film maker whose style gets in the way of his storytelling and whose films, as a result, are not easily accessible to audiences. Broadening that argument, it includes other artists: Ingmar Bergman, James Joyce, Thomas Pynchon, Bernardo Bertolucci, John Cage, Alain Resnais and Andy Warhol.

      It's not the opinion I find distressing, but the underlying attitude toward artistic expression that is different, difficult or demanding. Was it necessary to publish this article only a few days after Fellini's death?

      I feel it's a dangerous attitude, limiting, intolerant. If this is the attitude toward Fellini, one of the old masters, and the most accessible at that, imagine what chance new foreign films and film makers have in this country.

      It reminds me of a beer commercial that ran a while back. The commercial opened with a black and white parody of a foreign film -- obviously a combination of Fellini and Bergman. Two young men are watching it, puzzled, in a video store, while a female companion seems more interested. A title comes up: "Why do foreign films have to be so foreign?" The solution is to ignore the foreign film and rent an action-adventure tape, filled with explosions, much to the chagrin of the woman.

      It seems the commercial equates "negative" associations between women and foreign films: weakness, complexity, tedium. I like action-adventure films too. I also like movies that tell a story, but is the American way the only way of telling stories?

      The issue here is not "film theory," but cultural diversity and openness. Diversity guarantees our cultural survival. When the world is fragmenting into groups of intolerance, ignorance and hatred, film is a powerful tool to knowledge and understanding. To our shame, your article was cited at length by the European press.

      The attitude that I've been describing celebrates ignorance. It also unfortunately confirms the worst fears of European film makers.

      Is this closedmindedness something we want to pass along to future generations?

      If you accept the answer in the commercial, why not take it to its natural progression:

      Why don't they make movies like ours?

      Why don't they tell stories as we do?

      Why don't they dress as we do?

      Why don't they eat as we do?

      Why don't they talk as we do?

      Why don't they think as we do?

      Why don't they worship as we do?

      Why don't they look like us?

      Ultimately, who will decide who "we" are?


    18. The Orange

      At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
      The size of it made us all laugh.
      I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
      They got quarters and I had a half.

      And that orange, it made me so happy,
      As ordinary things often do
      Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
      This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

      The rest of the day was quite easy.
      I did all the jobs on my list
      And enjoyed them and had some time over.
      I love you. I’m glad I exist.

      - Wendy Cope


    19. The Tiger

      The tiger
      He destroyed his cage
      Yes
      YES
      The tiger is out


    20. The House will forgive me for quoting myself, but in the course of my life I have developed five little democratic questions. If one meets a powerful person--Adolf Hitler, Joe Stalin or Bill Gates--ask them five questions: "What power have you got? Where did you get it from? In whose interests do you exercise it? To whom are you accountable? And how can we get rid of you?" If you cannot get rid of the people who govern you, you do not live in a democratic system.

      - English Labour MP Tony Benn in the House of Commons, 22 march 2001


    21. A Toast to the Alchemists

      Alchemists,
      you were right, it is
      possible.
      We have the proof now.
      There are equations.

      If you could come back
      for a day, if you could
      conjure yourself into
      this chemistry classroom,
      if you could read the
      textbook or watch the
      professor writing the
      answers on the board…

      Alchemists,
      you would see that you
      were right, even though
      you didn’t know about
      alpha and beta radiation,
      even though you didn’t
      understand isotopes,
      you knew it was possible,
      that some elements can
      change into other elements,
      that transmutation can
      occur.

      Alchemists,
      there is proof now that
      it is possible, although
      each new element, having
      a brief half-life, would
      keep changing into other
      things.

      Alchemists,
      you were right, you can
      make anything, anything,
      uranium, plutonium, tel-
      lurium, mercury, copper,
      cobalt, platinum, silver,
      and gold, you can make
      gold, an isotope so
      radioactive it would
      sparkle before your eyes.

      Alchemists,
      you were right.
      It is magic.


    22. Westerners are fond of the saying ‘Life isn’t fair.’ Then, they end in snide triumphant: ‘So get used to it!’ What a cruel, sadistic notion to revel in! What a terrible, patriarchal response to a child’s budding sense of ethics. Announce to an Iroquois, ‘Life isn’t fair,’ and her response will be: ‘Then make it fair!’


    23. WHY ARE YOU LONELY: A TEXT GAME

      WHY ARE YOU LONELY: CHOOSE ONE

      • FAILED TO NURTURE RELATIONSHIPS BORN OUT OF CONVENIENCE ONCE CHANGING CIRCUMSTANCES REQUIRED ACTIVE PARTICIPATION FROM YOU
      • WATCHED NETFLIX FOR SEVEN HOURS INSTEAD OF SLEEPING BECAUSE YOU HAVE ONCE AGAIN MISTAKEN INERTIA FOR REST
      • CONFUSED “SELF-CARE” WITH “SELF-INDULGENCE” AGAIN; YOU ARE INCAPABLE OF EXPERIENCING GENUINE REFRESHMENT OR RESTORATION BUT YOU DO SPEND A LOT OF MONEY AT NAIL SALONS
      • ONCE AGAIN CONFUSED “EMPATHY” FOR “TAKING RESPONSIBILITY” AND INVITED OTHERS TO UNLOAD THEIR EMOTIONAL BURDENS ON YOU WITHOUT FIRST ENSURING RECIPROCITY, WHOOPS
      • ANTICIPATORILY BLAMED OTHER PEOPLE FOR NOT CALLING YOU WITHOUT ONCE ASKING YOURSELF WHY YOU CAN’T CALL THEM
      • ASSUMING ANY TIME SPENT TOGETHER THAT YOU HAD TO INITIATE IS SOMEHOW LESS AUTHENTIC THAN REQUESTS FOR TIME SPENT TOGETHER THAT YOU ACCEPT
      • BELIEVE “PERIODICALLY EXPERIENCING THE HUMAN CONDITION” MEANS SOMETHING IS FUNDAMENTALLY BROKEN WITHIN YOU
      • CONSTANTLY LIE ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS THEN WONDER WHY YOU FEEL LIKE NO ONE KNOWS YOU
      • MISTAKENLY BELIEVE THAT NEGATIVE FEELINGS MUST BE MISTAKES EITHER TO BE AVOIDED OR FIXED RATHER THAN EXPERIENCED
      • DESIRE TO BE FULLY UNDERSTOOD WITHOUT THE CONCOMITANT WILLINGNESS TO FULLY EXPLAIN YOURSELF
      • BELIEVE TRYING AT SOMETHING A LITTLE BIT SHOULD RESULT IN INSTANT PERFECTION AND FIND YOURSELF HORRIFIED AND ASHAMED OF MAKING REALISTIC PROGRESS
      • TRY COCONUT OIL
      • CONVINCED THAT HONESTLY ADMITTING YOUR PROBLEMS WILL DRIVE PEOPLE AWAY BECAUSE NO ONE LIKES COMPLAINING SO INSTEAD YOU OFFER EVERYONE A PISS-POOR SIMULACRUM OF BEING EASY-GOING
      • STILL JUST WAITING FOR THINGS TO HAPPEN TO YOU INSTEAD OF EXPRESSING YOUR DESIRES ALOUD
      • THINK YOU’RE BEING PLAYFUL BUT ACTUALLY YOU JUST GET MEAN WHEN YOU DRINK
      • SPEND ALL YOUR TIME SAYING THINGS LIKE “EITHER’S GOOD” OR “DOESN’T MATTER TO ME” WHEN IN FACT ONLY ONE THING IS GOOD AND IT DOES MATTER TO YOU BUT YOU THINK “NOT EXPRESSING A PREFERENCE” IS THE BEST PERSONALITY TRAIT YOU HAVE TO OFFER OTHERS
      • PEOPLE ACTUALLY MORE AWARE OF YOUR BARELY-CONCEALED CONTEMPT FOR THEIR CHOICES AND RELATIONSHIPS THAN YOU THINK THEY ARE
      • NO GOOD REASON, SORRY

    24. A Worker Reads History

      Who built the seven gates of Thebes?
      The books are filled with names of kings.
      Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?
      And Babylon, so many times destroyed.
      Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima's houses,
      That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it?
      In the evening
      Wwhen the Chinese wall was finished
      Where did the masons go?
      Imperial Rome is full of arcs of triumph.
      Who reared them up?
      Over whom did the Caesars triumph?
      Byzantium lives in song.
      Were all her dwellings palaces?
      And even in Atlantis of the legend
      The night the seas rushed in,
      The drowning men still bellowed for their slaves.

      Young Alexander conquered India.
      He alone?
      Caesar beat the Gauls.
      Was there not even a cook in his army?
      Phillip of Spain wept as his fleet
      was sunk and destroyed. Were there no other tears?
      Frederick the Great triumphed in the Seven Years War.
      Who triumphed with him?

      Each page a victory
      At whose expense the victory ball?

      Every ten years a great man,
      Who paid the piper?

      So many particulars.
      So many questions.


    25. Who doesn't toy with the thought of suicide sometimes? Or, like, most of the time? Okay, maybe some people don't – like the happy scientist girl named Marie, or Jean-Marc, the superstar whom everyone loves. But you -- when the going gets rough, it's nice to think about your little trap door out of here. Do it. Put your finger on the eject button, see how alive it makes you feel -- the freedom of finality. Think of how much they'll miss you.


    26. Hammond B3 Organ Cistern

      The days I don’t want to kill myself
      are extraordinary. Deep bass. All the people
      in the streets waiting for their high fives
      and leaping, I mean leaping,
      when they see me. I am the sun-filled
      god of love. Or at least an optimistic
      under-secretary. There should be a word for it.
      The days you wake up and do not want
      to slit your throat. Money in the bank.
      Enough for an iced green tea every weekday
      and Saturday and Sunday! It’s like being
      in the armpit of a Hammond B3 organ.
      Just reeks of gratitude and funk.
      The funk of ages. I am not going to ruin
      my love’s life today.
      It’s like the time I said yes
      to gray sneakers but then the salesman said
      Wait. And there, out of the back room,
      like the bakery’s first biscuits: bright-blue kicks.
      Iridescent. Like a scarab! Oh, who am I kidding,
      it was nothing like a scarab! It was like
      bright. blue. fucking. sneakers! I did not
      want to die that day. Oh, my God.
      Why don’t we talk about it? How good it feels.
      And if you don’t know then you’re lucky
      but also you poor thing. Bring the band out on the stoop.
      Let the whole neighborhood hear. Come on, Everybody.
      Say it with me nice and slow
      no pills no cliff no brains on the floor
      Bring the bass back. no rope no hose not today, Satan.
      Every day I wake up with my good fortune
      and news of my demise. Don’t keep it from me.
      Why don’t we have a name for it?
      Bring the bass back. Bring the band out on the stoop.
      Hallelujah!


    27. If I have one message to give to the secular American people, it's that the world is not divided into countries. The world is not divided between East and West. You are American, I am Iranian, we don’t know each other, but we talk and we understand each other perfectly.

      The difference between you and your government is much bigger than the difference between you and me. And the difference between me and my government is much bigger than the difference between me and you. And our governments are very much the same


    28. Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal

      After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, Please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she Did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used— She stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late, Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and Would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and Found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering Questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag— And was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers— Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands— Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped —has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.


    29. An Anthropologist On Mars

      This was the case with the B.s, the autistic family I had visited in California—the older son, like the parents, with Asperger’s syndrome, the younger with classical autism. When I first arrived at their house, the whole atmosphere was so “normal” that I wondered if I had been misinformed, or if I had not, perhaps, ended up at the wrong house, for there was nothing obviously “autistic” about them or it. It was only after I had settled down that I noticed the well-used trampoline, where the whole family, at times, likes to jump and flap their arms; the huge library of science fiction; the strange cartoons pinned to the bathroom wall; and the ludicrously explicit directions, pinned up in the kitchen, for cooking, laying the table, and washing up—suggesting that these had to be performed in a fixed, formulaic way (this, I learned later, was an autistic in-joke). Mrs. B. spoke of herself, at one point, as “bordering on normality,” but then made clear what such “bordering” meant: “We know the rules and conventions of the ‘normal,’ but there is no actual transit. You act normal, you learn the rules, and obey them, but ...”

      “You learn to ape human behavior,” her husband interpolated. “I still don’t understand what’s behind the social conventions. You observe the front—but ...”

      The B.s, then, had learned a front of normality, which was necessary, given their professional lives, their living in the suburbs and driving a car, their having a son in regular school, etc. But they had no illusions about themselves. They recognized their own autism, and they had recognized each other’s, at college, with a sense of such affinity and delight that it was inevitable they would marry. “It was as if we had known each other for a million years,” Mrs. B. said. While they were well aware of many of the problems of their autism, they had a respect for their differentness, even a pride. Indeed, in some autistic people this sense of radical and ineradicable differentness is so profound as to lead them to regard themselves, half-jokingly, almost as members of another species (“They beamed us down on the transporter together,” as the B.s liked to say), and to feel that autism, while it may be seen as a medical condition, and pathologized as a syndrome, must also be seen as a whole mode of being, a deeply different mode or identity, one that needs to be conscious (and proud) of itself.


    30. bechdel butch woman

      - Alison Bechdel (Fun Home)


    31. Fragen eines lesenden Arbeiters

      Wer baute das siebentorige Theben?
      In den Büchern stehen die Namen von Königen.
      Haben die Könige die Felsbrocken herbeigeschlappt?
      Und das mehrmals zerstörte Babylon -
      Wer baute es so viele Male auf? In welchen Häusern
      Des goldstrahlenden Lima wohnten die Bauleute?
      Wohin gingen an dem Abend,
      an dem die chinesische Mauer fertig war,
      Die Maurer?
      Das große Rom ist voll von Triumphbögen.
      Wer errichtete sie?
      Über wen triumphierten die Cäsaren?
      Hatte das vielbesungene Byzanz
      Nur Paläste für seine Bewohner?
      Selbst in dem sagenhaften Atlantis
      Brüllten in der Nacht, wo das Meer es verschlang
      Die Ersaufenden nach ihren Sklaven.

      Der junge Alexander eroberte Indien.
      Er allein?
      Cäsar schlug die Gallier.
      Hatte er nicht wenigstens einen Koch bei sich?
      Philipp von Spanien weinte, als seine Flotte
      Untergegangen war. Weinte sonst niemand?
      Friedrich der Zweite siegte im Siebenjährigen Krieg.
      Wer siegte außer ihm?

      Jede Seite ein Sieg.
      Wer kochte den Siegesschmaus?

      Alle zehn Jahre ein großer Mann.
      Wer bezahlte die Speisen?

      So viele Berichte.
      So viele Fragen.


    32. The Long Leg

      hopper the long leg

      - Edward Hopper


    33. How To Watch Your Brother Die

      When the call somes, be calm.
      Say to your wife, "My brother is dying. I have to fly
      to California."
      Try not to be shocked that he already looks like
      a cadaver.
      Say to the young man sitting by your brother's side,
      "I'm his brother."
      Try not to be shocked when the young man says,
      "I'm his lover. Thanks for coming."

      Listen to the doctor with a steel face on.
      Sign the necessary forms.
      Tell the doctor you will take care of everything.
      Wonder why doctors are so remote.

      Watch the lover's eyes as they stare into
      your brother's eyes as they stare into
      space.
      Wonder what they see there.
      Remember the time he was jealous and
      opened your eyebrow with a sharp stick.
      Forgive him out loud
      even if he can't
      understand you.
      Realize the scar will be
      all that's left of him.

      Over coffee in the hospital cafeteria
      say to the lover, "You're an extremely good-looking
      young man."
      Hear him say,
      "I never thought I was good enough looking to
      deserve your brother."

      "Watch the tears well up in his eyes. Say,
      I'm sorry. I don't know what it means to be
      the lover of another man."
      Hear him say,
      "Its just like a wife, only the commitment is
      deeper because the odds against you are so much
      greater."
      Say nothing, but
      take his hand like a brother's.

      Drive to Mexico for unproven drugs that might
      help him live longer.
      Explain what they are to the border guard.
      Fill with rage when he informs you,
      "You can't bring those across."
      Begin to grow loud.
      Feel the lover's hand on your arm
      restraining you. See in the guard's eye
      how much a man can hate another man.
      Say to the lover, "How can you stand it?"
      Hear him say, "You get used to it."
      Think of one of your children getting used to
      another man's hatred.

      Call your wife on the telephone. Tell her,
      "He hasn't much time.
      I'll be home soon." Before you hang up say,
      "How could anyone's commitment be deeper than
      a husband and a wife?" Hear her say,
      "Please. I don't want to know all the details."
      When he slips into an irrevocable coma,
      hold his lover in your arms while he sobs,
      no longer strong. Wonder how much longer
      you will be able to be strong.
      Feel how it feels to hold a man in your arms
      whose arms are used to holding men.
      Offer God anything to bring your brother back.
      Know you have nothing God could possibly want.
      Curse God, but do not
      abandon Him.

      Stare at the face of the funeral director
      when he tells you he will not
      embalm the body for fear of
      contamination. Let him see in your eyes
      how much a man can hate another man.

      Stand beside a casket covered in flowers,
      white flowers. Say,
      "Thank you for coming," to each of seven hundred men
      who file past in tears, some of them
      holding hands. Know that your brother's life
      was not what you imagined. Overhear two
      mourners say, "I wonder who'll be next?" and
      "I don't care anymore,
      as long as it isn't you."

      Arrange to take an early flight home.
      His lover will drive you to the airport.
      When your flight is announced say,
      awkwardly, "If I can do anything, please
      let me know." Do not flinch when he says,
      "Forgive yourself for not wanting to know him
      after he told you. He did."
      Stop and let it soak in. Say,
      "He forgave me, or he knew himself?"
      "Both," the lover will say, not knowing what else
      to do. Hold him like a brother while he
      kisses you on the cheek. Think that
      you haven't been kissed by a man since
      your father died. Think,
      "This is no moment to be strong."

      Fly first class and drink Scotch. Stroke
      your split eyebrow with a finger and
      think of your brother alive. Smile
      at the memory and think
      how your children will feel in your arms
      warm and friendly and without challenge.


    34. Markierung einer Wende

      19441945
      krieg krieg
      krieg krieg
      krieg krieg
      krieg krieg
      krieg mai
      krieg
      krieg
      krieg
      krieg
      krieg
      krieg
      krieg


    35. Moby Dick

      moby dick gerard dubois

      - Gerard Dubois


    36. First They Came...

      First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out—
      Because I was not a communist.
      First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
      Because I was not a socialist.
      Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
      Because I was not a trade unionist.
      Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
      Because I was not a Jew.
      Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak for me.


    37. Breaking Home Ties

      rockwell breaking home ties

      - Norman Rockwell


    38. Shiner

      rockwell shiner

      - Norman Rockwell


    39. The Problem We All Live With

      rockwell the problem we all live with

      - Norman Rockwell


    40. vewn bride

      - vewn


    41. vewn firing squad

      - vewn


    42. vewn full house

      - vewn


    43. vewn girlsnight

      - vewn


    44. vewn warzone

      - vewn


    45. Bee Orchid

      xkcd bee orchid

      - xkcd


    46. Helping

      xkcd helping

      - xkcd


    47. How it Works

      xkcd how it works

      - xkcd


    48. Useless

      xkcd useless

      - xkcd


    49. Wikipedian Protester

      xkcd wikipedian protester

      - xkcd


    50. Dante in Sardina

      The classics lie to you: there is no romance
      to death. I wake up, brush my teeth, and find out
      that my friend has hung himself in a public park.
      More brandy, please!, the living around me shout, then put
      their sunglasses on. He adored this island, the red house
      where the pool was covered in wasps and we drank wine
      for lunch. We played chess with half our bodies in water
      until we got headaches from the sun. He let me win
      and only laughed when I recited Dante to him:
      Nature follows--as she takes her course—
      the Divine Intellect and the Divine Art...
      Nature is not like art, he said, because it's functional
      before it is beautiful. The black, Volcanic hills
      could not sway him. Neither could the gecko
      falling asleep on his feet every afternoon. He is ash
      in a small jar now, or that is what science says.
      Here, the river has dried out, the tomato vines
      fouled. Every day the world inches closer
      to ruin and still I am astonished that bones and flesh
      contain the spirit, and that it can burn.
      Volcanic sediment and crushed seashells
      have turned the sand a tangy red, lifetimes of everything
      contaminating each other. And then emptying the jar
      into the clear, green water. Darling, I say to the sea,
      a feeling of inadequacy rushing through me—
      above us are Dante's inscrutable stars, mocking me
      for my terribly human need for connection. And below
      is the coast, where the waves are just waves, taking one thing
      and returning another: bottle caps, warm seagrass.


    51. How to Be a Dog

      If you want to be a dog, first you must learn to wait. You must wait
      all day until somebody returns, and if somebody returns late, you
      must learn to wait until then. Then you must learn to speak in one
      of the voices available to you, high and light or mellow thick and
      low or middle-range and terse. Whichever voice you learn to speak,
      you will meet somebody who does not like you because of it, they
      will be wary or annoyed or you will remind them of something or
      someone else. Once you have learned to speak you must learn not to
      speak unless you absolutely must, or to speak as much as you feel
      you must regardless of how many times you are told to stop, or sit,
      or placed behind a door—this will depend on what kind of a dog you
      want to be. And indeed there are many kinds. It may not feel as though
      you get to choose, and that too is a kind of dog. Next you must learn
      to relinquish all control over everything you might wish to control. You
      must learn to prefer to be led about by the neck on a piece of string,
      or staked to a neglected lawn by a length of chain. You must learn, once
      you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better
      to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—
      a fugitive is also a kind of dog. Of course you must learn to love, to
      love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much
      as the violence of your own love. You must learn to be confused but
      never disappointed by a deficiency of love. You must give up your
      children and not know why. You must lose yourself wholly in activity;
      you must never feel an itch that you do not scratch. You must learn how
      to wait at the foot of the bed and hope, silently, that somebody is drunk
      enough or lonely enough to invite you up, and you must learn not to show
      your excitement too much or overplay your hand. If you want to be a dog,
      you must learn to believe that you are not in fact a dog at all.


    52. When her mother is in the parlor
      we sit
      LIKE           THIS
      But after mother retires
      we always sit
      LIKETHIS

      And sometimes (don't be shocked!)
      we sit
      LIKE
      THIS

      - Feather River Bulletin, Quincy, California, March 20, 1924


    53. Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realise you didn’t paint it very well.


    54. After the Threesome, They Both Take You Home

      even though it's so very late
      and they have to report to their jobs
      in a few hours, they both get in the car,
      one driving, one shotgun, you in the back
      like a child needing a drive to settle into sleep,
      even though one could drive and the other
      sleep, because they can't sleep
      without each other, they'd rather drive you
      across the city rather than be apart for half an hour,
      the office buildings lit pointlessly beautiful
      for nobody except you to admire their reflections
      in the water, the lovers too busy talking about that colleague they don't like,
      tomorrow's dinner plans, how once
      they bought peaches on a road trip and ate and ate
      until they could taste it in each other's pores,
      they get out of the car together to kiss you goodnight,
      you who have perfected the ghost goodbye,
      exiting gatherings noiselessly, leaving only
      a dahlia-scented perfume, your ribcage
      compressing to slide through doors ajar and untouched,
      yesterday you were a flash of white in a pigeon's blinking eye,
      in the day few hours old you stand solid and full
      of other people's love for each other
      spilling over, warm leftovers.


    55. How To Look At Art

      barry how to look at art


    56. And God,
      please let the deer
      on the highway
      get some kind of heaven.
      Something with tall soft grass
      and sweet reunion.
      Let the moths in porch lights
      go some place
      with a thousand suns,
      that taste like sugar
      and get swallowed whole.
      May the mice
      in oil and glue
      have forever dry, warm fur
      and full bellies.

      If I am killed
      for simply living,
      let death be kinder
      than man.


    57. DINOSURS SMELLED MAGNOLIAS

      I am climbing a magnolia tree
      & you are telling me
      that magnolia trees existed
      before bees did which means that
      dinosaurs smelled magnolias
      & that maybe that
      was the last scent
      a dinosaur smelled
      before it all went bad
      & dark & bad &
      when I am safely in the tree
      you put your hands together
      in the shape of a bowl
      or a magnolia & that is
      where I would like to sleep
      & so I do & so I do.

      - Dalton Day


    58. The end justifies the means. But what if there never is an end? All we have is means.


    59. I Am So Depressed I Feel Like Jumping in the River Behind My House but Won't Because I'm Thirty-Eight and Not Eighteen

      Bring me a drink.
      I need to think a little.
      Paper. Pen.
      And I could use the stink
      of a good cigar–even
      though the sun’s out.
      The grackles in the trees.
      The grackles inside my heart.
      Broken feathers and stiff wings.

      I could jump.
      But I don’t.
      You could kill me.
      But you won’t.

      The grackles
      calling to each other.
      The long hours.
      The long hours.
      The long hours.


    60. The Globe Shrinks

      krueger the globe shrinks


    61. Make Out Sonnet

      The first time I saw two men kissing, I was six,
      Living in 1970s L.A. My mom took care
      Of an elderly woman who found herself in a fix
      And moved into a complex of all men, bare
      Chested men, with cutoff jeans and tinted glasses.
      My mother's friend gave me chocolate that matched
      Her skin - this must be heaven. These sons' asses
      Peeked out beneath their shorts, but watched
      Over her better than mom. Took donations for heat,
      A sofa and a new wig - all changed her mood.
      They even did her laundry. They did sweet
      Better than honey. Did family better than blood.
      And between duties, two men always off alone
      So desire, like the dishes, could also get done.


    62. Revloutionary Letter #26

      'DOES THE END
      JUSTIFY THE MEANS?' this is
      process, there is no end, there are only
      means, each one
      had better justify itself.
      To whom?


    63. Running Orders

      They call us now, before they drop the bombs. The phone rings and someone who knows my first name calls and says in perfect Arabic “This is David.” And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass-shattering symphonies still smashing around in my head I think, Do I know any Davids in Gaza? They call us now to say Run. You have 58 seconds from the end of this message. Your house is next. They think of it as some kind of war-time courtesy. It doesn’t matter that there is nowhere to run to. It means nothing that the borders are closed and your papers are worthless and mark you only for a life sentence in this prison by the sea and the alleyways are narrow and there are more human lives packed one against the other more than any other place on earth Just run. We aren’t trying to kill you. It doesn’t matter that you can’t call us back to tell us the people we claim to want aren’t in your house that there’s no one here except you and your children who were cheering for Argentina sharing the last loaf of bread for this week counting candles left in case the power goes out. It doesn’t matter that you have children. You live in the wrong place and now is your chance to run to nowhere. It doesn’t matter that 58 seconds isn’t long enough to find your wedding album or your son’s favorite blanket or your daughter’s almost completed college application or your shoes or to gather everyone in the house. It doesn’t matter what you had planned. It doesn’t matter who you are. Prove you’re human. Prove you stand on two legs. Run.


    64. A Feminine Touch

      shea a feminine touch


    65. iii

      What if over tea, what if on our walks, what if
      in the long yawn of the fog, what if in the long middle
      of the wait, what if in the passage, in the what if
      that carries us each day into seasons, what if
      in the renewed resilience, what if in the endlessness,
      what if in a lifetime of conversations,
      what if in the clarity of consciousness, what if nothing changes?


    66. I have always known that writing fiction had little effect on the world; that if it did, young men would not have gone to war after The Iliad. Only the privileged - those with homes and food and the luxury of time in a home - are touched, moved, sometimes changed by literature. For the twenty million Americans who are hungry tonight, for the homeless freezing tonight, literature is as useless as a knowledge of astronomy. What do stars look like on a clear cold winter night, when your children are hungry, are daily losing their very health; or when, alone, you look up from a heat grate? Of course in cities at night you can’t even see the stars.


    67. Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.

      - Vincent van Gogh


    68. How to Read Ezra Pound

      At the poets’ panel,
      after an hour of poets debating Ezra Pound,
      Abe the Lincoln veteran,
      remembering
      the Spanish Civil War,
      raised his hand and said:
      If I knew that
      a fascist
      was a great poet,
      I’d shoot him
      anyway.


    69. Four Darks in Red

      rothko four darks in red

      - Mark Rothko


    70. Who remembers the Armenians?

      I remember them
      and I ride the nightmare bus with them
      each night
      and my coffee, this morning
      I'm drinking it with them

      You, murderer -
      Who remembers you?


    71. You are inconsistent. You do not need to have a grand unified theory about what to do about Michael Jackson. You are a hypocrite, over and over. You love Annie Hall but you can barely stand to look at a painting by Picasso. You are not responsible for solving this unreconciled contradiction. In fact, you will solve nothing by means of your consumption; the idea that you can is a dead end.
      The way you consume art doesn't make you a bad person, or a good one. You'll have to find some other way to accomplish that.


    72. Thirty-six Views of the Moon

      ebtekar thirty six views of moon


    73. Joy Division, The Moonlight Club, 4 April 1980, West Hampstead, London, England

      king joy division


    74. A Good Day

      Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
      took the bus home,
      carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
      and cooked myself dinner.
      You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
      This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
      worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
      only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
      and slept like a rock.
      Flossed in the morning,
      locked my door,
      and remembered to buy eggs.
      My mother is proud of me.
      It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
      She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
      with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
      But she is proud.
      See, she remembers what came before this.
      The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
      how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
      She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
      These were the bad days.
      My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
      My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
      Depression, is a good lover.
      So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
      And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
      That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
      It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
      Today, I slept in until 10,
      cleaned every dish I own,
      fought with the bank,
      took care of paperwork.
      You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
      I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
      but I don’t speak for others anymore,
      and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
      And my mother is proud of me.
      I burned down a house of depression,
      I painted over murals of greyscale,
      and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
      But today, I want to live.
      I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
      or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
      I just cleaned my bathroom,
      did the laundry,
      called my brother.
      Told him, “it was a good day.”

      - Kait Rokowski


    all tags

    abstract art article autism bechdel brecht cope depression disco elysium donelan essay family fascism feminism german headspace history language lesbian lgbt love meta minigames movies music photography poem poetry poland politics quote robot rockwell sappho short story shrine star trek vewn visual war wikipedia xkcd

    -


  66. SONG

    [Intro]
    He never ever saw it coming at all
    He never ever saw it coming at all
    He never ever saw it coming at all
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright

    [Chorus]
    Hey, open wide, here comes original sin
    Hey, open wide, here comes original sin
    Hey, open wide, here comes original sin
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    No one's got it all
    No one's got it all
    No one's got it all

    [Verse]
    Power to the people, we don't want it, we want pleasure
    And the TV's try to rape us and I guess that they're succeeding
    And we're going to these meetings but we're not doing any meeting
    And we're trying to be faithful but we're cheating, cheating, cheating

    [Chorus]
    Hey, open wide, here comes original sin
    Hey, open wide, here comes original sin
    Hey, open wide, here comes original sin
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    No one's got it all
    No one's got it all
    No one's got it all

    [Verse]
    Power to the people, we don't want it, we want pleasure
    And the TV's try to rape us and I guess that they're succeeding
    And we're going to these meetings but we're not doing any meeting
    And we're trying to be faithful but we're cheating, cheating, cheating

    [Chorus 2]
    I'm the hero of the story, don't need to be saved
    I'm the hero of the story, don't need to be saved
    I'm the hero of the story, don't need to be saved
    I'm the hero of the story, don't need to be saved
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    It's alright, it's alright, it's alright
    No one's got it all
    No one's got it all
    No one's got it all

    SONG

    [Intro]
    Nigdy przenigdy nie spodziewał się on
    Nigdy przenigdy nie spodziewał się on
    Nigdy przenigdy nie spodziewał się on
    Wszystko dobrze, dobrze, dobrze, dobrze
    dobrze, dobrze jest

    [Chorus]
    Przygotuj się, nadchodzi pierwotny grzech
    Przygotuj się, nadchodzi pierwotny grzech
    Przygotuj się, nadchodzi pierwotny grzech
    Wszystko dobrze, dobrze, dobrze, dobrze
    Dobrze, dobrze, dobrze,
    Dobrze, dobrze jest
    Ciesz się tym co masz
    Ciesz się tym co masz
    Ciesz się tym co masz

    [Verse]
    Mówią, władza ludzią, co nam z tego, chcemy usiąść
    Telewizja gwałci oczy chyba jej to się udaje
    Ciągle mamy te spotkania, ale się nie spotykamy
    I staramy się być wierni, lecz zdradzamy, -amy, -amy

    [Chorus]
    Przygotuj się, nadchodzi pierwotny grzech
    Przygotuj się, nadchodzi pierwotny grzech
    Przygotuj się, nadchodzi pierwotny grzech
    Wszystko dobrze, dobrze, dobrze, dobrze
    Dobrze, dobrze, dobrze,
    Dobrze, dobrze jest
    Ciesz się tym co masz
    Ciesz się tym co masz
    Ciesz się tym co masz

    [Verse]
    Mówią, władza ludzią, co nam z tego, chcemy usiąść
    Telewizja gwałci umysł, chyba jej to się udaje
    Ciągle mamy te spotkania, ale się nie spotykamy
    I staramy się być wierni, lecz zdradzamy, -amy, -amy

    [Chorus 2]
    Jestem głównym bohaterem, nie zbawi mnie nikt,
    Jestem głównym bohaterem, nie zbawi mnie nikt,
    Jestem głównym bohaterem, nie zbawi mnie nikt,
    Jestem głównym bohaterem, niech nie zbawi mnie nikt,
    Wszystko dobrze, dobrze, dobrze, dobrze
    Dobrze, dobrze, dobrze,
    Dobrze, dobrze jest
    Ciesz się tym co masz
    Ciesz się tym co masz
    Ciesz się tym co masz

    - Regina Spektor


  67. SONG

    She told me not to step on the cracks
    I told her not to fuss and relax
    Pretty little face stopped me in my tracks
    But now she sleeps with one eye open
    That's the price she'll pay

    I took a knife and cut out her eye
    I took it home and watched it wither and die
    Well, she's lucky that I didn't slip her a smile
    That's why she sleeps with one eye open, oh
    But that's the price she'll pay

    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"
    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry"

    I slipped my hand under her skirt
    I said, "Don't worry, oh, it's not gonna hurt"
    Oh, my reputation's kinda clouded with dirt
    That's why you sleep with one eye open, oh
    But that's the price you'll pay

    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"
    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry"

    You made me cry
    You made me cry
    You made me cry

    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"
    I said, "Girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"

    And I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"
    And I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry"

    SONG

    Mówiła mi, pod nogi patrz
    a ja jej że, spokój mi ma dać oh
    taka była ładna że aż musiałam wstać
    więc nocy z okiem śpi otwartym
    to właśnie cena mnie jest

    raz wziełam nóż, zabrałam jej wzrok
    trzymałam w domu u mnie przez cały rok, o-o-o-o
    ma szczęścię, przed uśmiechem chronił ją mrok
    a w nocy z okiem śpi otwartym
    bo taka cena mnie jest

    Mówiąc jej, odsłoń swą twarz,
    ciągle palce wtykasz do cudzych spraw
    Mówiąc jej, gdzie oko masz
    musiałam ci je zabrać, bo wzbudziłać mój płacz

    Czujesz mój wzrok, gdy dotykam cię
    Chodź siłą, mówie słonko, nie będzie źle o-o-o-o
    Bo reputacja jest na dobre i złe
    bo teraz z okiem spisz otwartym
    to właśnie cena mnie jest

    Mówiąc jej, odsłoń swą twarz,
    ciagle palce wtykasz do cudzych spraw
    Mówiąc jej, gdzie oko ma
    musiałam jej je zabrać, bo wzubdziłaś pła-a-acz

    wzubidziłaś pła-a-a-acz
    wzubidzi-i-łaś pła-a-a-acz
    wzubidziłas pła-a-a-a-aaaa-aaaaaa

    Mówiąc jej, odsłoń swą twarz,
    ciąglę palce wtykasz do cudzych spraw
    szepcząć jej, gdzie oko masz
    palce ciągle wtykasz do nie swoich spra-a-a-a-a aaaa

    Mówiąc hej, odsłoń swą twarz, [o-o-o-o]
    ciągle palce wtykasz, do nie swoich spra-a-a-a-a-aaa-aa-w
    Mówiąc hej, gdzie oko masz
    musiałam ci je zabrać, bo wzbudziłaś mój płacz

    - Florence and the Machine


  68. SONG

    When I was a little girl, my mother always told me
    “Someday your prince will come, my love”
    But as I grew, I knew it was a princess who would hold me.
    I looked to the stars for you, my love.

    Oh my love, as the cannons were a-blazing
    I looked to the stars for you, my love
    Oh my love, as our cities you were razing
    I looked to the stars for you, my love

    My world was left a-burning and my royal house a-bleeding
    I looked to the stars for you, my love
    My stepmother and sisters betrayed our world, conceding
    I looked to the stars for you, my love

    Oh my love, as they took me to the prison
    I looked through the bars and saw you, my love
    Oh my love, my soul was then arisen
    I looked through the scars to you, my love

    A godmother in white, she came, and took me to your crimson
    You held me at last in your arms, my love
    Together now, we longed to hear the matrimonial hymn sung
    Eternally bound to you, my love

    Oh my love, as the soldiers opened fire
    On our wedding day, I ran, my love
    Forgive me, my love, as I fled ever higher
    I ran to the stars without you, my love

    Years have passed, yet still I search, I know they cannot hide you
    I look through the stars for you, my love
    The ring will take me to you and the life they have denied you
    I look through the stars for you, my love

    Oh my love, we shall finally be together
    I look through the stars for you, my love
    Oh my love, held in your arms forever
    Your princess will come for you, my love
    Oh my love, oh my love,
    Your Cinders will come for you, my love.

    SONG

    Kiedy byłam młodsza, moja matka mi mówiła,
    “Przybędzie król, pokocha cię”
    Lecz z biegiem czasu wiem, nie żaden król, ale księżniczka,
    Gdzieś z nieba gwiazd, bo kocha mnie,

    Serce me, kiedy świat mój stanął w ogniu,
    Gdzie jesteś ty? Ja kocham cię,
    Serce me, kiedy miast ruiny wokół,
    Ja znajdę cię, nieważne gdzie,

    I nic mi nie zostało z mojej pięknej krwi błękitnej,
    Bez ciebie źle, bo kocham cię,
    Macocha zła zdradziła nas, w ramach zemsty perfidnej,
    Wiem jesteś gdzieś, bo kocham cię,

    Serce me, choć do lochu mnie prowadzą,
    Widząc cię, zakochałam się,
    Serce me, chodź ma twarz jest brudna sadzą,
    Coś we mnie wrze, bo kocham cię,

    I znikąd jakby wróżka, mnie zawiodła w twe objęcia,
    Zdradziłam ci, że kocham cię,
    By móc związane ślubem być na wieczne tysiąclecia,
    Na zawsze ty, bo kochasz mnie,

    Serce me, kiedy znikąd padły strzały,
    Musiałam biec, chodź kocham cię,
    Wybacz mi, że uciekłam gdzieś nad gwiazdy,
    Ślepa od łez, bo kocham cię,

    Nikt od lat nie widział cię, lecz szukać nie przestanę,
    Bez snu bez łez, bo kocham cię,
    Pierścień mój zabierzę mnie gdzie życie ci zabrane
    Gdzieś wśród gwiazd hen, bo kocham cię,

    Serce me, wkrótce znów będziemy razem,
    Ja znajdę cię, nie poddam się
    Serce me, ty i ona przed ołtarzem,
    Księżniczka jak ja, co kocha cię,
    Serce me, Serce me,
    Twa Cinders wciąż trwa, bo kocha cię.

    - The Mechanisms


  69. fanpages fanpages

    regina spektor shrine

    one of the best lyricists ive ever heard.

    allied mastercomputer shrine

    nice, pacifistic, gentle and human - none of those words heve ever been used to describe the ALLIED MASTERCOMPUTER

    -


  70. SONG

    Ujrzałam cię po raz pierwszy w życiu
    I serce me w ukryciu
    Cicho szepnęło: to jest on!
    Nie wiem dlaczego, wszak byłeś obcy,
    Są w mieście inni chłopcy.
    Ciebie pamiętam z tamtych stron.

    Kupiłeś "Ergo" i w mym sklepiku,
    Zawsze tak pełnym krzyku
    Wszystko ucichło - nawet ja!
    Mówiąc "adieu", ty się śmiałeś do mnie,
    Ach, jak mi żal ogromnie,
    Że cię nie znałam tego dnia...

    O mój wymarzony,
    O mój wytęskniony,
    Nie wiesz przecież o tym ty,
    Że w małym miasteczku za tobą ktoś
    Wypłakał z oczu łzy...
    Że jedna Rebeka
    W zamyśleniu czeka,
    Aż przyjedziesz po nią sam
    I zabierzesz ją jako żonę swą
    Hen, do pałacu bram...

    Ten gwałt, ten blask, ten cud,
    Ja sobie wyobrażam, Boże Ty mój!
    Na rynku cały tłum,
    A na mnie błyszczy biały weselny strój!
    O mój wymarzony,
    O mój wytęskniony,
    Czy ktoś kochał cię jak ja?
    Lecz ja jestem biedna i to mój sen,
    Co całe życie trwa...

    Pamiętam dzień, było popołudnie,
    Szłam umyć się pod studnię...
    Tyś samochodem przybył wraz,
    Przy tobie siedziała ona,
    Żona czy narzeczona,
    Jakby przez mgłę widziałam was...

    Coś zakręciło się w mojej głowie...
    Mam takie słabe zdrowie...
    W sercu ścisnęło coś na dnie,
    Padłam na bruk, tobie wprost pod nogi,
    Cucąc mnie, pełen trwogi, "
    Co pani jest?" - spytałeś mnie...

    O mój wymarzony,
    O mój wytęskniony,
    Nie wiesz przecież o tym ty,
    Że w małym miasteczku za tobą ktoś
    Wypłakał z oczu łzy...
    Że jedna Rebeka
    W zamyśleniu czeka,
    Aż przyjedziesz po nią sam
    I zabierzesz ją jako żonę swą
    Hen, do pałacu bram...

    Ten gwałt, ten blask, ten cud,
    Ja sobie wyobrażam, Boże Ty mój!
    Na rynku cały tłum,
    A na mnie błyszczy biały weselny strój!
    O mój wymarzony,
    O mój wytęskniony,
    Czy ktoś kochał cię jak ja?
    Lecz ja jestem biedna i to mój sen,
    Co całe życie trwa...

    SONG

    I saw you once, unassuming meeting,
    My heart it started beating,
    And whispered to me, this is him!
    I don't know why, you were just a stranger
    Town's full of other danger,
    I only know you from that time

    You bought an "Ergo", all of the sudden
    like someone pushed a button
    all of the buzz has quieted down
    With an "adieu" you were smiling at me,
    Oh I regret so badly,
    that of your name I didn't know...

    Oh my dear beloved
    my dear who I covet
    You don't know of it at all
    That back in the village tears are shed,
    for you to hear my call
    That the poor rebecca
    waits for you to get her
    till you come to take her hand
    whisk her far away as your perfect bride
    up to the palace gates

    the shine, the dream, the awe
    oh goodness I can swear I see it all
    village people 'round
    i'm wearing the most beautiful gown
    Oh my dear beloved
    my dear who I covet
    no one loves you quite like me
    but I'm just a poor girl through and through
    With one eternal dream

    one afternoon, i was getting water
    the sun was getting lower
    i saw you pull up in your car
    and next to you, my eyes have lingered
    a ring upon her finger
    I couldn't breathe, my mouth ajar

    suddently weak, my mind startted spinning
    my heath was always thinning
    I swear that I felt my heart break
    fell at your feet, right onto the pavement
    your voice was scared but fervent
    "Are you alright?" I heard you say.

    Oh my dear beloved
    my dear who I covet
    You don't know of it at all
    That back in the village tears are shed,
    for you to hear my call
    That the poor rebecca
    waits for you to get her
    till you come to take her hand
    whisk her far away as your perfect bride
    up to the palace gates

    the shine, the dream, the awe
    oh goodness I can swear I see it all
    village people 'round
    i'm wearing the most beautiful gown
    Oh my dear beloved
    my dear who I covet
    no one loves you quite like me
    but I'm just a poor girl through and through
    With my eternal dream

    - Zygmunt Białostocki and Andrzej Włast


  71. hiiiiii

    new things?

    not many!
    but as you mightve seen, the last (undocumented) "big" site update was done to rework some css and make it a bit more responsive. that plus the art page has been completely rehauled (check it out here if you havent already!). its where i put things that i find ~evocative~ for whatever reason, and there's also tags and their dedicated pages ^^

    on a sidenote eleventy devs: PLEASE add a dedicated neste pagination support, that allows you to add pagination INSIDE the paginated tag pages from collections.all!!! [there is a plugin for it on here but its fucky and like 5 versions outdated so.... please make this builtin because if i have to write a javascript collection for EVERY tag i'll go insane ahah]
    aside over LMAO

    back to things that are new! i am going to a psychologist for the fist time in 10 months!!!! <= personal update quota reached :]

    do you have hobbies? i do! i really, no, really enjoy translating songs (though im sure theres a word for that that's better than simple translation. transliteration maybe?)
    it's a bit like pulling teeth, but i did manage to force my brain to finish some songs, you can check out the labors of my love here

    and hey - on the off-chance you want a song translated to/from german english or polish shoot me a message on my profile! i'm usually up for a challenge, though there are songs that are simply.... untranslateable :/

    beyond that... i went to paris, i bought a dirndl, i keep existing, like a cockroach behind the fridge of the universe

    so thats all for this one, hope yall enjoy!

    -


  72. SONG

    [Verse]
    I know you've been thinking I'm a good girl
    Spending all my time down on my knees
    I know you've been thinking I'm a bad girl
    All I wanna do is, please

    I know you've been teaching me my right from wrong
    Keeping me on a tight leash
    I can barely recognize who I've become
    All I wanna do is be free, yeah

    [Chorus]
    I want you to love me like you used to
    I want you to fuck me till I can't move
    I want you to call me your bitch
    Dirty little, dirty little itch
    Now can you say my name?
    Can you say my name

    [Verse]
    I know you've been teaching me direction
    Tearing at my mind and my soul
    Just another physical attraction
    But it's mine and mine alone

    [Chorus]
    I want you to love me like you used to
    I want you to fuck me till I can't move
    I want you to call me your bitch
    Dirty little, dirty little itch
    Now can you scream my name?
    Can you scream my name
    Scream it

    [Breakdown]
    I know you've been thinking I'm a good girl
    I know you've been thinking I'm a good girl
    I know you've been thinking I'm a good girl
    I know you've been thinking I'm a good fucking girl

    All I wanna do is burn the world
    All I wanna do is burn
    Now scream my name
    Scream my name
    Scream my name
    Scream it

    SONG

    [Verse]
    Wiem że myślisz jaka jestem dobra,
    Na kolanach zadowolę cię,
    Wiem że myślisz że nie jestem dobra,
    Przypodobam tobię się.

    Wiem że uczysz mnie jak postępować,
    Kiedy twoja dłoń trzyma smycz,
    Samej się nie mogę już rozpoznać,
    Nad wszystko chcę wolna być, yeah!

    [Chorus]
    Pokaż mi że kochasz mnie jak dawniej,
    Rżnij mnie aż nie będe więcej mogła stać
    nazywaj swoją dziwką mnie
    takie brzydkie małe pragnienię
    wiesz jak nazywam się?
    wiesz jak nazywam się-ę-ę-ę?

    [Verse]
    wiem że pokazujesz dobrą drogę

    [Chorus]

    [Breakdown]

    - Vernon Jane


  73. SONG

    SONG

    -


  74. SONG

    [Verse 1: JONNY D'VILLE]
    Oh when the Red Rose, it comes a-marching
    Well we will fight, we will fight, fight for our boy Jack
    When the Red Rose, it comes a-marching
    Spit in the face of history

    [Verse 2]
    And when the giants, they come a-rolling
    Then we will fight, we will fight, fight for our boy Jack
    When the giants, they come a-rolling
    If he can slay them, so can we

    [Verse 3]
    And when the cannons rain down from orbit
    Then, we will stand, we will stand, stand for our boy Jack
    When the cannons rain down from orbit
    Then we will stand with dignity

    [Verse 4]
    And when the Rose comes over the water
    Then we will sink them, we’ll sink them for our boy Jack
    When the Rose comes over the water
    Then we will sink them in their sea

    [Verse 5]
    And when the whiskey, it starts a-flowing
    Then we will drink, we will drink, drink to our boy Jack
    When the whiskey, it starts a-flowing
    Then let us pour it fast and free

    [Verse 6]
    And when they hunt us, they shall not find us
    For we’ll be quick, we’ll be quick, quick like our boy Jack
    When they hunt us, they shall not find us
    And we shall live in infamy

    [Verse 7]
    And when my body is lost and broken
    Then I shall rest, I shall rest down with our boy Jack
    When my body is lost and broken
    Well, then boys, you fight for me

    [Verse 8]
    And when the Red Rose, it comes a-marching
    Then we will fight, we will fight, fight for our boy Jack
    Oh when the Red Rose, it comes a-marching
    Spit in the face of history

    SONG

    [Zwrotka 1: JONNY D'VILLE]
    I kiedy Róża, nadejdzie marszem
    To walczysz ty, walczę ja, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Bo kiedy Róża nadejdzie marszem,
    W historii nasz zostanie ślad!

    [Zwrotka 2]
    A gdy olbrzymy, na nas napadną,
    To walczysz ty, walczę ja, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Bo gdy olbrzymy, na nas napadną,
    On je pokonał, więc też my!

    [Zwrotka 3]
    A gdy z orbity, ostrzał rozpoczną,
    Będziemy stać, murem stać tak jak dzielny Jaś.
    Gdy z orbity, ostrzał rozpoczną,
    To mur nasz będzie godnie stał,

    [Zwrotka 4]
    A kiedy Róża, nadejdzie morzem,
    Zatopisz ją, tak jak ja, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Kiedy Róża, nadejdzie morzem,
    To skończy tam na samym dnie!

    [Zwrotka 5]
    A kiedy whiskey, popłynie wartko,
    Będziesz pił ty, będe ja, z nami dzielny Jaś
    Bo kiedy whiskey, popłynie wartko,
    To lejmy byle szybko ją!

    [Zwrotka 6]
    Gdy będą gonić, to nas nie złapią,
    Nie damy się, damy się, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Gdy będą gonić, to nas nie złapią,
    W niesławie tej, będziemy żyć,

    [Zwrotka 7]
    A kiedy spoczne, słaby złamany,
    Połóżcie mnie, kładzcie mnie, tam gdzie spoczął Jaś,
    Lecz gdy spoczne, słaby złamany,
    Wy chłopcy nieście za mnie broń!

    [Zwrotka 8]
    Więc kiedy Róża, nadejdzie marszem
    To walczysz ty, walczę ja, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Bo kiedy Róża nadejdzie marszem,
    W historii nasz zostanie ślad!

    - The Mechanisms


  75. SONG

    [Intro]
    Rose rose rose red, will I ever see thee wed?
    I will marry at thy will, sir, at thy will
    Ding dong, ding dong, wedding bells on an April morn
    Carve thy name on a moss covered stone, on a moss covered stone

    [Verse 1]
    Rose rose rose red, she has fought and she has bled
    Waging war on a hundred worlds, on a thousand battlegrounds
    Open fire, open fire, turn your home to a funeral pyre
    All she knows is pain and death and a moss-covered stone

    [Verse 2]
    Rose rose rose red, eternity will see her dead
    Always marching on to fight to another bitter end
    Open fire, open fire, the flames of war can still burn higher
    Carve that as your epitaph on your moss covered stone

    [Outro]
    Rose rose rose red, will I ever see thee wed?
    I will marry at thy will, sir, at thy will
    Ding dong, ding dong, wedding bells on an April morn
    Carve thy name on a moss covered stone, on a moss covered stone

    SONG

    [Intro]
    Różo, różo, czy cię kiedyś ukożą?
    Wezmę tego kogo wskażesz, kogo chesz.
    Ding dong, ding dong, w kwietniu słychać ślubów dzwon
    wyryj imię na omazały głaz, na omszały głaz

    [Zwrotka 1]
    Róża, róża, krwi szkarłatna kałuża
    prowadź wojne na każdy świat, na
    Strzelaj do nich, Strzelaj do nich,

    [Zwrotka 2]

    [Outro]
    Różo, różo, czy cię kiedyś ukożą?
    Wezmę tego kogo wskażesz, kogo chesz.
    Ding dong, ding dong, w kwietniu słychać ślubów dzwon
    wyryj imię na omazały głaz, na omszały głaz

    - The Mechanisms


  76. SONG

    [Strophe 1]
    Hallo, mein Schatz, ich liebe dich
    Du bist die Einzige für mich
    Die andern find' ich alle doof
    Deswegen mach' ich dir den Hof
    Du bist so anders, ganz speziell
    Ich merke so was immer schnell
    Jetzt zieh' dich aus und leg' dich hin
    Weil ich so verliebt in dich bin

    [Pre-Refrain]
    Gleich wird es dunkel, bald ist es Nacht
    Da ist ein Wort der Warnung angebracht:

    [Refrain]
    Männer sind Schweine
    Traue ihnen nicht, mein Kind
    Sie wollen alle das Eine
    Weil Männer nun mal so sind

    [Strophe 2]
    Ein Mann fühlt sich erst dann als Mann
    Wenn er es dir besorgen kann
    Er lügt, dass sich die Balken biegen
    Nur, um dich ins Bett zu kriegen
    Und dann am nächsten Morgen weiß
    Er nicht einmal mehr, wie du heißt
    Rücksichtslos und ungehemmt
    Gefühle sind ihm völlig fremd

    [Pre-Refrain]
    Für ihn ist Liebe gleich Samenverlust
    Mädchen, sei dir dessen stets bewusst

    [Refrain]
    Männer sind Schweine
    Frage nicht nach Sonnenschein
    Ausnahmen gibt's leider keine
    In jedem Mann steckt doch immer ein Schwein
    Männer sind Säue
    Glaube ihnen nicht ein Wort
    Sie schwör'n dir ewige Treue
    Und dann am nächsten Morgen sind sie fort
    Yeah, yeah, yeah

    [Sample]
    „Was hab ich denn getan, dass du mich immer quälst und sagst, du liebst mich nicht?“
    „Du hast nicht die geringste Ahnung was Liebe ist. Wir kennen uns ja nicht mal.“

    [Strophe 3]
    Und falls du doch den Fehler machst
    Und dir 'nen Ehemann anlachst
    Mutiert dein Rosenkavalier
    Bald nach der Hochzeit auch zum Tier
    Da zeigt er dann sein wahres Ich
    Ganz unrasiert und widerlich
    Trinkt Bier, sieht fern und wird schnell fett
    Und rülpst und furzt im Ehebett

    [Pre-Refrain]
    Dann hast du King Kong zum Ehemann
    Drum sag' ich dir, denk' bitte stets daran:

    [Refrain]
    Männer sind Schweine
    Traue ihnen nicht, mein Kind
    Sie wollen alle nur das Eine
    Für wahre Liebe sind sie blind
    Männer sind Ratten
    Begegne ihnen nur mit List
    Sie wollen alles begatten
    Was nicht bei drei auf den Bäumen ist
    Männer sind Schweine
    Frage nicht nach Sonnenschein
    Ausnahmen gibt's leider keine
    In jedem Mann steckt doch ein Schwein
    Männer sind Autos
    Nur ohne Reserverad
    Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

    SONG

    [Strophe 1]
    Witaj skarbeńku, kocham cię
    Bo tyś zrobiona dla mnie jest
    Te wszystkie inne brzydkie są
    Dlatego pragnę rączke twą
    Masz w sobie takie fajne coś
    Na inne ja wykręcam nos
    Więc robierz no i połóż się,
    Pokaże ci jak kochać chcę!

    [Pre-Refrain]
    I juz jest wieczór, niedługo czas spać,
    Lecz pozwól sobie jedną radę dać:

    [Refrain]
    Facet to Świnia!
    Słonko, weź nie ufaj im
    Oni chcą tylko jednego...
    I żadna siła nie zmieni ich!

    [Strophe 2]
    Facetem facet czuje się
    gdy pocałować może cię,
    I wciśnie tobie każdy kit,
    byś tylko się przespała z nim
    a następnego ranka on
    nie wie kogo do łóżka wziął
    a jaki on to tupet ma
    nie obchodzą go uczucia

    [Pre-Refrain]
    Dla ciebie miłość, dla niego to seks,
    kochana sluchaj, zanim sparzysz się

    [Refrain]
    Facet to Świnia!
    nie łódź się o słońce z nim
    wyjątków po prostu nie ma

    [Strophe 3]

    [Pre-Refrain]

    [Refrain]

    - Die Ärzte


  77. i went to paris

    i went to paris

    started on: Sun Sep 24 2023 11:46:29 GMT+0200 (Central European Summer Time)

    headshot of my face smiling in paris

    hey its milo! this one was taken on the second or first day

    You know Paris is always THE cultural capital of Europe - with the great thinkers, artists, ingenues, socialites, scholars and personalities having made it their home over the course of history, it was certainly an easy choice to decide to visit it. I admit with no shame that on my own I probably would've never made my way there - without getting into detail i am of the "seen a picture = been there" mentality - so it was by a fortunate combination of work-related ennui and my directionless need to so something, that I found myself saying yes immediately when a friend approached me about a weekend trip, in early september.

    now me and trips-with-friends have a strained relationship, as i found that i start deteriorating socially and in behavior the longer i am in a space that other people also reside in. ill give you a rundown: the first day i am in great spirits - and my companions are as well. The next day i am drained - even if we have separate rooms i still am I sleeping and existing in the presence of people, with no outlet for my usual strangeness of flapping my arms, singing loudly and generally behaving abnormally. that is also when the other people start to feel strain of our time together, they are tired and get annoyed at my increasing unnormal behavior, until they snap - and that brings a cascading reaction that leaves me silently crying myself to sleep over my isolation, as my brain blows whatever comment they made ("please, can you be quiet just for a minute, it's warm and my head hurts when you sing so loud") out of proportion. It leads to this: third day and i am overthinking my every action - frequently asking the irritating "are you mad at me?" question. only when we say goodbye at the train station i relax again, as i put in my headphones and start dancing and humming along to the music right there on the street. the burden of having to anticipate and fit in with the other persons disappears - i am free.

    and yet, despite me having an "episode" on every trip with my peers in recent memory, i hardly say no to one, hell, i even get out of my way to organize something at every opportunity. with mixed results, as ive learned that most things just don't happen.

    view from my flixbus window

    my bus ride from munich to strasbourg

    i'll give you an example: a recurring theme during this trip with June, as I will call her, was that we just had to get a tattoo. i find tattoos cool as hell, June does seem to like them as well, but she has this funny characteristic where she'll deem arbitrary things as "cringe" and will judge people who engage in something cringe. i absolutely couldn't care less. the first point of discussion was: what kind of tattoo should we get, as she doesn't want to have something "basic". after some back and forth "it can't be cringe" vs. "i genuinely don't care, i just want a tatoo", we settled on one of the dried and pressed four-leaf clovers she keeps in her phonecase. finally. we decide to get it on the last day (that's when the feeling of the inevitable failure set in by the way) because if there're any complications it won't ruin the entire trip. well, that plus the opening hours of... everything in paris seem to be in constant, frustrating flux. so, the last day rolls around, with all of it's awful emotion-draining residue, and after two closed shops we find a studio. the lady is super nice, but as it turns out the base price is 30 euros more than my friend is willing to pay, which is an issue that she has to be fair, and that's how it always ends. we don't get a tattoo.
    It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

    i'm getting ahead of myself. unquestionably, if i had to rank all the small moments and situations that i witnessed in paris, the ride there with flixbus is definitely in the top ten. see, flixbus does offer direct connections to munich - but those were too expensive, i didn't want to be shilling out more than i needed to, so I picked the one-change budget option. said change was in strasbourg - a beautiful town judging by the piss-less bus station i saw - in france.
    here's a fun fact about me: from the grades 7 to 10 i've had to take french at school with, what i am convinced was, the most incompetent teacher in a 100 km area of the school. so bad in fact, that from those four years, i only remember "je ne parle pas francois" (I don't speak french), which got plenty of use during my stay.

    so I get out of the bus after a good five hour drive, knowing that i have one hour to scope out the joint and find the mission objective: the shitter and the stop my next bus is gonna be at. apparently, the frenchmen have not yet discovered the digital timetable technology yet - but to be fair the germans only adapted in relatively recently - and my bladder is giving me hell, so i start wandering around with my scarab blue suitcase, looking for a public toilet. reasonably there has to be one on a long distance bus station, and once a nice homeless guy directs me to an open one, im safe.
    around i notice an older lady, visibly distressed, that at some point approaches me. she spoke neither english not french, and a bit of fiddling with google translate resulted in the recognition that she's probably romanian. that and she doesn't have a ticket, and she needs to get to paris - hey just like me! so i brokenly let translate suggest to her that maybe she can buy a ticket in the bus, and having finished this awkward communication i move away to look for my bos, and she trails after me. at some point i am so frustrated with the lack of directions that i ask some young guy in english if he knows where the flixbuses go from. surprise - its my lucky day, he speaks german french AND english, also some of the mystery language the woman uses, since they exchange a few sentences. Maybe she does know french, idk, i for sure don't. so we get to talking, and within five minutes of conversation he shows me his vacation photos - a cruise in greece. its nice but overbearing, so i sigh with relief when the bus arrives. as i stand in line with the woman and Pierre, the talkative guy, but then the woman turns distressed, and we manage to find out that the bus drives does not allow her to buy the ticket there. Pierre boards, and I offer the woman to buy the ticket for her, and she enthusiastically agrees. after we board, there's some commotion on the bus, some passengers have way too much luggage, and they refuse to leave, so the police has to get involved, and as a result im forced to make small talk with Pierre for two hours. it's not like i dont like talking to people... but i have trouble doing so for long periods of time, or when im unprepared. im both in this case. its torturous to pretend to be engaged, but its ruder to not. im glad when he gets off at his stop and i get to listen to music

    So here're the mistakes I made. theyre not bad, but dumb and caused by my own fucking idiocy:

    1. i buy the woman her ticket, she's so happy, she hugs me and pushes some money into my hand. i, missseeing how much she's given me pull out my wallet and give her change. she's confused but accepts and boards with me. on the bus i realize she's given me less than the ticket cost but all she had. its not about the money but im too quick, to hasty - its not the first time im careless with money
    2. we board. i look in my app, and OH NO! my return ticket is booked for the wrong day, the day after checking out from my and June's hotel! ok ok really quick, cancel booking (minor fee) and rebook (ticket price). at the hotel June tells me were leaving the day my original trip back was planned, that i misread the calendar, so i have to rebook, paying the price of the ticket again. i lost 200EUR this way. at least i averted disaster - being stranded in paris. small mercies

    all in all it was a good deed i did, and the woman could get to paris.
    it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

    two hands next to each other. one thin and wiry one normal looking

    June's hand (right) next to mine (left)

    cheeses in plastic boxes and some crackers sitting on a bench

    the budget charcuteries were fun. you get to make your own!

    in paris we walk a lot. there's the standard checking out of the popularest tourist attractions, figuring out where to next and where to go eat... June's as fucked up as I am, though differently. she's been struggling with anorexia for a long time, and im in this weird situation, where i dont want to push her to eat, because she told me that doesn't help, but i dont want to eat alone. i also have some bad thoughts about food, and seeing her warped self-control fills me with jealousy. im not proud of it. but its hot outside, we do 30.000 steps a day, and since i and June both have the kind of the indecisiveness of 'i don't care, you choose' its a straining process, for me at least. we just get some groceries and snacks and eat them in parks. for four days. the budget charcuteries we call them, we still laugh about them
    there's still this uneasiness, for me, because i can see she's exhausted, but she's pushing herself to walk more. i cant begin to imagine what's in her head - does she feel guilty for eating? is she trying to meet a calorie/excersize goal? unintentionally it puts me on edge. i cant think or talk about food because that'll make her guilty, so shell insist on getting some food. we go to a grocery store, and she turns her nose up at the food, 'because its too expensive' (she keeps complaining that she keeps getting money that she doesn't know what to do with) and 'that she's not hungry' (she probably isn't) so yknow. call me selfish but i feel bad too, for wanting to eat when she can go so long without (its an illness. im not proud of those thoughts) its a process, but its not her fault.
    it also leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

    the heat is getting to us. that and the food thing and my indecisiveness. she's a bit in a bad mood, but i cant blame her. its the late afternoon, i kept worrying all day that im doing something wrong, annoying her by my indecisiveness. She asks me a question about politics, or general ideologies, and notes that my answer is different from what i said the day before. inconsistent, she calls me. it hurts. i feel bad. i dont understand why one moment im absolutely convinced of one thing, but another day i give a different explanation, both are true to me at the same time. i am an inconsistent person i guess. i keep saying, yesterday i was someone different, and if she's noticed it has to be true. its really hot, no clouds a beautiful blue sky. were going back to the hostel, after some 'lunch'. she doesn't want to spend money on train fares, and i dont really care, so we walk back those few kilometers. im bored, im always bored, but she doesn't want to talk. i understand she's exhausted and wrestling with things in her head that i dont understand, so i sing to myself, not loud enough for people on the street to hear. singing has always brought me comfort, made me feel happy, so when im unsure of the situation, when im on edge like that i hum and sing - for confidence. she can hear it too, and at some point she snaps "You're being annoying. Please stop." she says. haha, being annoying my biggest fear. she means it politely, i cant be mad at her.

    cheeses in plastic boxes and some crackers sitting on a bench

    beautiful view from out hotel balcony

    i stifle a panic attack. i stifle another one. cant be having those on the street because of an innocuous comment. that night, when i shower, i cut myself with a box cutter i brought with me. its childish, but i want her to see, so i wipe the blood from my thighs with one of the white floor towels, and leave it there. i dont want her to know... but i do what her to know that she hurt me. i want for her to think of me not as a friend but as a person. dunno if she notices, but i cant sleep that night anyway. our room in the hostel is on the fifth floor, and i sit till 5am on the balcony, listening to sad music and contemplating jumping. it'd be easy, little to no survival chance. i can't do it.
    instead, i get on my laptop and in a flurry of productiveness i create a map of all things we could do on the last two days here. i think im apologizing to her, for being me - indecisive, inconsistent and irrational.
    i feel not like myself the last two days.

    and just as it always goes, we spend a last half day at some cafe, she drinks it black i drink tea, and we say our goodbyes. for the first time in days i can walk while listening to music - i love this so much - and i drag my suitcase to the flixbus station. the trip back is uneventful, but back at home, i need to recover for a day, so i stay home from work. same old, same old

    its funny, afterwards she tells me she remembers the trip fondly, that it completely changed her outlook on paris and that she had a great time. i didnt. im too much in my own head i guess, too focused on my own shortcomings, but i wanted to kill myself on this stupid trip. but it was because i thought she was mad at me, so.... how was it, really? objectively?

    ironically im finishing this again on a trip with June, this time in heidelberg... almost five months after. i think im in a better place now, but im still constantly apologizing, im still inconsistent, im still... ill-fitting. my eating issues have gotten worse (for my head), i have a plan again for the next few years, and yet i feel empty. on edge. so maybe trips like that aren't for me, and im destined for loneliness after all

    -


  78. SONG

    Wy kłamiecie aby kupić nas
    Sprzedajecie nasz bezcenny czas
    Wciąż myślicie, że to tylko tłum
    Zabraniacie dźwięków wszystkich strun

    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać

    I w pozłotka oklejajcie się
    Choć kryjecie ja dokładnie wiem
    Że jesteście ludźmi tak jak my
    Choć czasami władza wam się śni

    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać

    Śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać
    Śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać
    Śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać
    Śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać

    SONG

    You're all liars, trying to buy us
    Making profit off our precious lives
    Thinking we're all a dumb grey mass
    Disallowing strumming our guitars

    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that

    all your houses, filled with golden chintz
    yet i know your grimy fingerprints
    youre all people just like me and you
    with delusious of some great grandeour

    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that

    laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh
    laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh
    laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh
    laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh

    - Kobranocka (orginalnie Armee der Verlierer - Die Toten Hosen)


  79. input command

    hey there!

    this is the entrance for my page, here's some disclaimers

    1. for accesibility purposes there are some js scripts on my site, that also save a local cookie
    2. there may be some flashing gifs if you have js disabled though
    3. this site is mobile friendly!
    4. unless stated otherwise, feel free to copy art/code/whatever! i'll also happily explain to you how i did anything :]
    go in

    -


  80. deadpool villain cards

    -


  81. how are yall doing?

    officially internautica.online now!

    yeah i finally decided to shill out the 5 bucks for neo supporter and 20 eur per year for a domain name because its fun yanno? plus apparently i could upload any filetype i want now, though i havent tested it :o

    the changes are as follows:

    • news based on my github commits are displayed on the main screen, which hopefully will encourage me to be more normal and descriptive
    • some accessibility features: dark/light mode, dyslexic freindly font, animation stop button and refactoring of several html components to be more specific than divs!
    • the site should be fully responsive now, so mobile readers can peruse the admittedly meager content
    • new pages: art that ive done, and a landing page that gives some info about the site, with a cookie disclaimer
    • theres been some backend changes, cause i need things to be super duper modular and efficient, which makes writing code for backend take 70% longer than doing it quick and dirty and expanding it later lmao
    • some new images for the footer and a new favicon :333
    • were officially internautica.online!!!! super excited about this hehe
    • im adding new art i like whenever the mood/spoons strike me [bro that css was so annoying why do i do that to myself]

    neos uploading system is still verry annoyingly limited, so i have to reupload every file in my paginated subpages because of hashes or ordering or something grrr i should look into mounting as a drive, but its 4 am so im going zzzzz mimimimi

    about my personal life updates, i continue to exist with more or less sever mood swings, though ive taken up smoking instead of drinking, and im currently dealing with a fruitflies infestation :(
    oh and i dyed my hair red again, but a more cherry color this time :D

    and for last, if the images on the art-i-like page looked... well like shit it was my bad, i uploaded the dev version by mistake :||| sorry bout that lol!

    well thats all, till next time internauts!

    -


  82. After the Threesome, They Both Take You Home

    even though it's so very late
    and they have to report to their jobs
    in a few hours, they both get in the car,
    one driving, one shotgun, you in the back
    like a child needing a drive to settle into sleep,
    even though one could drive and the other
    sleep, because they can't sleep
    without each other, they'd rather drive you
    across the city rather than be apart for half an hour,
    the office buildings lit pointlessly beautiful
    for nobody except you to admire their reflections
    in the water, the lovers too busy talking about that colleague they don't like,
    tomorrow's dinner plans, how once
    they bought peaches on a road trip and ate and ate
    until they could taste it in each other's pores,
    they get out of the car together to kiss you goodnight,
    you who have perfected the ghost goodbye,
    exiting gatherings noiselessly, leaving only
    a dahlia-scented perfume, your ribcage
    compressing to slide through doors ajar and untouched,
    yesterday you were a flash of white in a pigeon's blinking eye,
    in the day few hours old you stand solid and full
    of other people's love for each other
    spilling over, warm leftovers.


  83. How To Look At Art

    barry how to look at art


  84. And God,
    please let the deer
    on the highway
    get some kind of heaven.
    Something with tall soft grass
    and sweet reunion.
    Let the moths in porch lights
    go some place
    with a thousand suns,
    that taste like sugar
    and get swallowed whole.
    May the mice
    in oil and glue
    have forever dry, warm fur
    and full bellies.

    If I am killed
    for simply living,
    let death be kinder
    than man.


  85. DINOSURS SMELLED MAGNOLIAS

    I am climbing a magnolia tree
    & you are telling me
    that magnolia trees existed
    before bees did which means that
    dinosaurs smelled magnolias
    & that maybe that
    was the last scent
    a dinosaur smelled
    before it all went bad
    & dark & bad &
    when I am safely in the tree
    you put your hands together
    in the shape of a bowl
    or a magnolia & that is
    where I would like to sleep
    & so I do & so I do.

    - Dalton Day


  86. The end justifies the means. But what if there never is an end? All we have is means.


  87. I Am So Depressed I Feel Like Jumping in the River Behind My House but Won't Because I'm Thirty-Eight and Not Eighteen

    Bring me a drink.
    I need to think a little.
    Paper. Pen.
    And I could use the stink
    of a good cigar–even
    though the sun’s out.
    The grackles in the trees.
    The grackles inside my heart.
    Broken feathers and stiff wings.

    I could jump.
    But I don’t.
    You could kill me.
    But you won’t.

    The grackles
    calling to each other.
    The long hours.
    The long hours.
    The long hours.


  88. The Globe Shrinks

    krueger the globe shrinks


  89. Make Out Sonnet

    The first time I saw two men kissing, I was six,
    Living in 1970s L.A. My mom took care
    Of an elderly woman who found herself in a fix
    And moved into a complex of all men, bare
    Chested men, with cutoff jeans and tinted glasses.
    My mother's friend gave me chocolate that matched
    Her skin - this must be heaven. These sons' asses
    Peeked out beneath their shorts, but watched
    Over her better than mom. Took donations for heat,
    A sofa and a new wig - all changed her mood.
    They even did her laundry. They did sweet
    Better than honey. Did family better than blood.
    And between duties, two men always off alone
    So desire, like the dishes, could also get done.


  90. Revloutionary Letter #26

    'DOES THE END
    JUSTIFY THE MEANS?' this is
    process, there is no end, there are only
    means, each one
    had better justify itself.
    To whom?


  91. Running Orders

    They call us now, before they drop the bombs. The phone rings and someone who knows my first name calls and says in perfect Arabic “This is David.” And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass-shattering symphonies still smashing around in my head I think, Do I know any Davids in Gaza? They call us now to say Run. You have 58 seconds from the end of this message. Your house is next. They think of it as some kind of war-time courtesy. It doesn’t matter that there is nowhere to run to. It means nothing that the borders are closed and your papers are worthless and mark you only for a life sentence in this prison by the sea and the alleyways are narrow and there are more human lives packed one against the other more than any other place on earth Just run. We aren’t trying to kill you. It doesn’t matter that you can’t call us back to tell us the people we claim to want aren’t in your house that there’s no one here except you and your children who were cheering for Argentina sharing the last loaf of bread for this week counting candles left in case the power goes out. It doesn’t matter that you have children. You live in the wrong place and now is your chance to run to nowhere. It doesn’t matter that 58 seconds isn’t long enough to find your wedding album or your son’s favorite blanket or your daughter’s almost completed college application or your shoes or to gather everyone in the house. It doesn’t matter what you had planned. It doesn’t matter who you are. Prove you’re human. Prove you stand on two legs. Run.


  92. A Feminine Touch

    shea a feminine touch


  93. iii

    What if over tea, what if on our walks, what if
    in the long yawn of the fog, what if in the long middle
    of the wait, what if in the passage, in the what if
    that carries us each day into seasons, what if
    in the renewed resilience, what if in the endlessness,
    what if in a lifetime of conversations,
    what if in the clarity of consciousness, what if nothing changes?


  94. more than meets the eye

    -


  95. hey that's me!

    -


  96. not safe for work

    -


  97. art i made







    -


  98. SONG

    Otwieram drzwi, to jesteś ty
    Przybiegłaś, widzę jeszcze drżysz
    Gorące usta, gorące dłonie
    W półmroku cała lśnisz

    Powolnym ruchem sięgasz
    I patrzysz poprzez szkło
    Falujesz w rytmie zmierzchu
    Przeciągasz się jak kot

    Dotykam cię, a wtedy ty
    Przymykasz czarne oczy
    Budzisz się, znów cała lśnisz
    Lśni się róża nocy

    Odchodzisz, lecz zostawiasz
    Na szklance szminki ślad
    To nic, że ona przyjdzie
    Zapyta jeszcze raz

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Dotykam cię, a wtedy ty
    Przymykasz czarne oczy
    Budzisz się, znów cała lśnisz
    Lśni się róża nocy

    Odchodzisz, lecz zostawiasz
    Na szklance szminki ślad
    To nic, że ona przyjdzie
    Zapyta jeszcze raz

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?

    Otwieram drzwi, to znowu ty
    Przybiegłaś, widzę jeszcze drżysz
    Gorące usta, gorące dłonie
    W półmroku cała lśnisz

    Odchodzisz lecz zostawiasz
    Na szklance szminki ślad
    To nic, że ona przyjdzie
    Zapyta jeszcze raz

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?

    SONG

    Open the door, oh that's just you
    You came to me, all shaken through
    your eyes, your lips your hands white hot
    youre shv'ring in the dusk

    With a deliberate movement
    You're looking through a shard
    You're ripplig with the twillight
    You're stretching like a cat

    I'm touching you, you close your eyes
    As if the night were sleeping
    You're waking up, you shimmer dark
    like a night rose is shimmering

    You're leaving yet you left me
    a lip print on the glass
    You don't care that shes coming
    And you'll know what she'll ask

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    I'm touching you, you close your eyes
    As if the night were sleeping
    You're waking up, you shimmer dark
    like a night rose is shimmering

    You're leaving yet you left me
    a lip print on the glass
    You know that she'll be coming
    And you'll know what she'll ask

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?

    Open the door, it's always you
    You came to me, all shaken through
    your eyes, your lips your eyes white hot
    youre shiv'ring in the dusk

    You're leaving yet you left me
    a lip print on the glass
    You know that she'll be coming
    And you'll know what she'll ask

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?

    - Manaam


  99. darkest darlingest dungeon

    -


  100. the mecha i mean the magnus archives

    -


  101. I have always known that writing fiction had little effect on the world; that if it did, young men would not have gone to war after The Iliad. Only the privileged - those with homes and food and the luxury of time in a home - are touched, moved, sometimes changed by literature. For the twenty million Americans who are hungry tonight, for the homeless freezing tonight, literature is as useless as a knowledge of astronomy. What do stars look like on a clear cold winter night, when your children are hungry, are daily losing their very health; or when, alone, you look up from a heat grate? Of course in cities at night you can’t even see the stars.


  102. Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.

    - Vincent van Gogh


  103. wanna play a game?

    strip dismas!

    THIS GAME IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK!
    first test of minigames, with dismas from darkest dungeon! a bit of a reverse spin on the dress-up genre, call this a dismas dress-down, or ddd for short :3

    strip audrey too!

    THIS GAME IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK!
    happy valentines *darling* :3

    strip para too!

    THIS GAME IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK!
    happy valentines *my favorite experiment* :3... honestly you know the drill by now

    -


  104. omg the highwayman!

    Hi this is a small proof of concept that was hellish to make, a dress down game of stripping dismas of darkest dungeon fame!

    it probably will be wonky on some browsers (that dont suport the css clip-path property) and will suck ass on mobile phones, cuz i got super tired of just making the draggable api work

    it goes without saying its nsfw... but for all adults in the audience, enjoy!

    UPDATE LOG:


    18-01-2024:

    UPDATE: definitely not working on mobile, do go on pc for that

    UPDATE: extras added! might need some... exploring

    19-01-2024

    random barks while you undress him

    22-01-2024

    barks are animated similarly to dd now!

    maybe it works on mobile.idk, gotta push it first

    05-02-2024

    made dismas dick more... well less inflamed

    runaway/maid outfits added + some extra ones

    also convenience buttons!


    <-- go back

    -


  105. now you see me

    now you don't

    changes:

    • my art pages have much more content, marked nsfw where appropiate
    • work on the zine page has not been happening lmao
    • same with everything else tbh
    • theres a minigame now! check it out here! [nsfw]

    also im so tried. im gonna go to uni again in september, so ill move back in with my parents which means ill wanna kill myself 24/7. the planet goes on in being round etc etc

    until my next wondrous reappearance!

    -


  106. talk too much

    i went to paris

    started on: Sun Sep 24 2023 11:46:29 GMT+0200 (Central European Summer Time)
    Reading time: 10 min. read

    i went for a semi-spontaneous trip to paris, with a friend way back from high school. weird, annoying and whiny write up of my time there. -->

    Possible content warnings:

    • depression
    • eating disorder
    • self harm

    first -->

    -


  107. and the world keeps going

    programming is fun! *clenches fist* :)

    not much happening, but its an update, yeah? never said those would be consistent

    • last year i went to paris. i wrote about it. its unnecessarily dramatic, and painfully personal, not to mention i never wrote anything like that... not since school haha
    • completely rehauled the eleventy side of the minigame code. its practically completely modular now, so thats fun
    • me and a friend have been talking about possible new characters (audrey and para anyone?) and outfits, but im in heidelberg now so no drawing is gonna be happening
    • im working on an arch linux install tutorial, for shits and giggles

    on a personal note, ive been struggling more and more recently, because of my appearance. also im making my hair green again, its a long process

    stay alive out there -milo

    -


  108. How to Read Ezra Pound

    At the poets’ panel,
    after an hour of poets debating Ezra Pound,
    Abe the Lincoln veteran,
    remembering
    the Spanish Civil War,
    raised his hand and said:
    If I knew that
    a fascist
    was a great poet,
    I’d shoot him
    anyway.


  109. Four Darks in Red

    rothko four darks in red

    - Mark Rothko


  110. sneaky snek snek

    -


  111. click and you get piss

    if i am on acid say yes

    -


  112. poisoned... with love!

    Hi the system of this poc has grown considerably, but hey, now youve got audrey too! go figure!

    she definitely can be yuor devil!

    UPDATE LOG:


    09-02-2024:

    base audrey exists!

    15-02-2024:

    pt1. of valentines double feature... the red hot devil!


    <-- go back

    -


  113. indescriminate... science?

    valentines angle... of the more devilish variety!

    UPDATE LOG:


    15-02-2024:

    base para added!

    all para outfits added honestly i need to move on creatively tbh!

    thanks Elodie for helping me with the barks! keep it stabby <


    <-- go back

    -


  114. Who remembers the Armenians?

    I remember them
    and I ride the nightmare bus with them
    each night
    and my coffee, this morning
    I'm drinking it with them

    You, murderer -
    Who remembers you?


  115. You are inconsistent. You do not need to have a grand unified theory about what to do about Michael Jackson. You are a hypocrite, over and over. You love Annie Hall but you can barely stand to look at a painting by Picasso. You are not responsible for solving this unreconciled contradiction. In fact, you will solve nothing by means of your consumption; the idea that you can is a dead end.
    The way you consume art doesn't make you a bad person, or a good one. You'll have to find some other way to accomplish that.


  116. Thirty-six Views of the Moon

    ebtekar thirty six views of moon


  117. Joy Division, The Moonlight Club, 4 April 1980, West Hampstead, London, England

    king joy division


  118. A Good Day

    Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
    took the bus home,
    carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
    and cooked myself dinner.
    You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
    This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
    worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
    only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
    and slept like a rock.
    Flossed in the morning,
    locked my door,
    and remembered to buy eggs.
    My mother is proud of me.
    It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
    She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
    with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
    But she is proud.
    See, she remembers what came before this.
    The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
    how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
    She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
    These were the bad days.
    My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
    My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
    Depression, is a good lover.
    So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
    And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
    That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
    It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
    Today, I slept in until 10,
    cleaned every dish I own,
    fought with the bank,
    took care of paperwork.
    You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
    I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
    but I don’t speak for others anymore,
    and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
    And my mother is proud of me.
    I burned down a house of depression,
    I painted over murals of greyscale,
    and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
    But today, I want to live.
    I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
    or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
    I just cleaned my bathroom,
    did the laundry,
    called my brother.
    Told him, “it was a good day.”

    - Kait Rokowski


  119. internautica

    Hey its me [milo]! im a 2X year old depressee and college dropout :') im mostly a collector of everything that i like and base my personality on, in my search for dumb happiness and stupid meaning, so feel free to check out my art page, where i put the works that make me feel *something*

    i was gonna port my shrines to this version of my site, but frankly i am starting to like the low-css/js approach here
    if you want something to get excited about, though, here you go:

    • song translation page ✔️
    • dark mode! (check out the toggle above!) ✔️
    • eleventy base project maybe? this is not happening
    • zines page? ive made two in my whole life but i had ideas for two more
    • fandomy art page! i deleted a lot of my social media recently and i would prefer to host my art here ^^ ✔️

    keep in mind that i cant remember when (and if) i ever finished a project :(
    so, um, be kind to me! i am always happy to share how and why i do things, and you can contact me on my neocities profile!

    Site update log

    • 17-05-2024 04:32 -
      x
    • 17-05-2024 04:32 -
      more. its always more
    • 17-05-2024 02:44 -
      songs to get translated
    • 13-05-2024 23:42 -
      songs have ids now
    • 12-05-2024 20:33 -
      songs
    • 12-05-2024 20:31 -
      songs
    • 28-04-2024 18:13 -
      songs + art
    • 04-03-2024 15:37 -
      new favicon :D
    • 28-02-2024 10:35 -
      more not-my-art
    • 15-02-2024 00:57 -
      idgaf, audrey and para valentines doupbe feature!
    • 06-02-2024 00:34 -
      tehee forgot to hide some wips
    • 06-02-2024 00:19 -
      yay new nsfw pic!
    • 06-02-2024 00:19 -
      new outfits and functionf for dismas stripgame
    • 28-01-2024 17:47 -
      egregious error in dirnames for the eleventyImage plugin. fixed!
    • 27-01-2024 21:41 -
      new art, art-i-like
    • 27-01-2024 21:40 -
      paris trip report has pictures
    • 26-01-2024 01:29 -
      essay + newspost + version bump (triple whammy)
    • 26-01-2024 01:28 -
      posts framework added
    • 22-01-2024 16:05 -
      minigame: maybe mobile orga: yeah
    • 21-01-2024 19:01 -
      bark animation
    • 19-01-2024 17:05 -
      extended structure of stripgame + bark system for dizzy boy
    • 19-01-2024 02:13 -
      structure changes + version bump
    • 19-01-2024 02:12 -
      restructuring of the stripping minigame + extras
    • 14-01-2024 01:39 -
      minigame update dedicated to avi
    • 14-01-2024 01:21 -
      newspost whoops
    • 14-01-2024 00:54 -
      new art! [nsfw]
    • 14-01-2024 00:54 -
      infrastructure updates
    • 14-01-2024 00:53 -
      added the first minigame! [nsfw, proceed with discretion]
    • 27-12-2023 02:28 -
      more art i like
    • 26-12-2023 23:27 -
      dd + tma pictures n config
    • 16-10-2023 19:57 -
      prettying up and version bump: 1.4.2
    • 16-10-2023 18:05 -
      proper nsfw art page
    • 16-10-2023 10:32 -
      renaming files works - and BOY was it a BITCH (+ nsfw images as "placeholders")
    • 15-10-2023 23:08 -
      gifs display properly on art pages
    • 15-10-2023 20:17 -
      my art pages: self portraits and transformers
    • 14-10-2023 14:48 -
      wake up babe new art just droppedd
    • 14-10-2023 04:38 -
      newspost + neopush! (+ tiny little hotfix)
    • 14-10-2023 04:27 -
      structure changes, adding toggles to landing page
    • 14-10-2023 03:22 -
      gallery template with css done: "it's good. no, even better, it's good *enough*"
    • 14-10-2023 03:11 -
      bugfix: eleventyimg set the default img value super fow for elements with spaces in title for some reason lol
    • 14-10-2023 00:24 -
      initial setup of gallery templating, no testing
    • 14-10-2023 00:24 -
      images for cards + two blinkies
    • 13-10-2023 23:51 -
      disclaimer for landing page added
    • 13-10-2023 23:04 -
      bugfix: images scaling weridly on mobile
    • 10-10-2023 16:29 -
      emergency hotfix cause i pushed the wrong version to neo whoops lol and version push cause: INTERNAUTICA.ONLINE babey
    • 09-10-2023 21:15 -
      bugfix: workaround for autoplay cookie not triggering play
    • 09-10-2023 20:52 -
      git log for the site changes implemented
    • 09-10-2023 12:05 -
      github link fix lol, it was the path.join
    • 09-10-2023 00:37 -
      build streamline and random version bump
    • 09-10-2023 00:19 -
      accessibility gif toggle via freezeframe.js
    • 08-10-2023 23:24 -
      small style improvement
    • 08-10-2023 22:47 -
      dyslexic font toggle added
    • 08-10-2023 16:02 -
      dark mode borders (decided against doing hrs too)
    • 08-10-2023 16:02 -
      some song updates, is chronological order now
    • 27-09-2023 22:08 -
      one fully translated + some partial songs!
    • 24-09-2023 18:58 -
      reworked image gen for art to use eleventy plugin
    • 24-09-2023 12:17 -
      links look better
    • 24-09-2023 12:11 -
      returned arts original sorting for ease of use
    • 24-09-2023 11:46 -
      privacy changes
    • 24-09-2023 11:38 -
      one more song
    • 24-09-2023 11:37 -
      structure upgrades
    • 24-09-2023 11:37 -
      art updateart update
    • 24-09-2023 11:10 -
      theres darkmode now :o
    • 24-09-2023 09:54 -
      song date update?
    • 22-09-2023 19:17 -
      pagination is sexy now
    • 22-09-2023 14:07 -
      Update style.css
    • 21-09-2023 23:49 -
      added some info about the page ^^
    • 21-09-2023 23:41 -
      songs plus now songs support #creator commentary via title
    • 21-09-2023 22:53 -
      news reworked a bit + new newspost
    • 21-09-2023 22:39 -
      hoem now links to songs footer has extra title style is responsiver, small tweaks to existing pages like reversing collections etc
    • 21-09-2023 21:52 -
      songs framework + page exists!
    • 14-09-2023 20:19 -
      uhm. ignore this commit
    • 14-09-2023 20:18 -
      removed data files - removed twitter - removed shrines and expanded social lik conditions
    • 14-09-2023 20:02 -
      updated homepage and finally added correct favicons
    • 14-09-2023 11:08 -
      adds plugins and filters
    • 08-09-2023 10:40 -
      tags and small optimisations
    • 08-09-2023 02:29 -
      footer update + no ai scraping
    • 07-09-2023 16:02 -
      art update!
    • 17-08-2023 17:15 -
      code block syntax highlighting!!!
    • 17-08-2023 17:15 -
      restructured the base html template into blocks, added extra css file allowance for each page
    • 15-08-2023 18:18 -
      changes newspost?
    • 15-08-2023 18:17 -
      neopush, version bump
    • 14-08-2023 11:54 -
      add a "edit it on github!" button for future posts
    • 14-08-2023 11:26 -
      dummy post
    • 14-08-2023 10:57 -
      formatting fix for details
    • 13-08-2023 22:23 -
      fukcing finally the fix (and making tagged posts consistent)
    • 13-08-2023 22:02 -
      easier html shortcode added
    • 13-08-2023 00:22 -
      minor tagging url cleaning
    • 13-08-2023 00:19 -
      small changes, is my username linked now in the commit?
    • 13-08-2023 00:10 -
      adjusted scripts and config
    • 12-08-2023 00:36 -
      small things
    • 11-08-2023 21:10 -
      pagination made into component, corrected verion bump again
    • 10-08-2023 00:38 -
      bump version
    • 10-08-2023 00:22 -
      minor fixes
    • 10-08-2023 00:21 -
      shrines structure implemented
    • 10-08-2023 00:20 -
      assets: my blinkies added, removed too big ones, footer filters for images only, the tiger formatting fuxed, gooter list type oversight fixed
    • 10-08-2023 00:18 -
      assets: fonts + sources
    • 08-08-2023 10:51 -
      added + configured more art
    • 08-08-2023 10:51 -
      small newsport format upate + corrected version bump
    • 07-08-2023 22:12 -
      version bump
    • 07-08-2023 22:11 -
      misc + cleanup
    • 07-08-2023 22:11 -
      newspage revamp
    • 07-08-2023 22:11 -
      art page + assets, no images though
    • 07-08-2023 14:48 -
      nobody look milo commited their node_modules folder lol
    • 06-08-2023 21:41 -
      cleanup
    • 06-08-2023 21:40 -
      Merge branch 'fuckup'
    • 06-08-2023 21:37 -
      test commit
    • 06-08-2023 13:59 -
      initial commit 2: barebones but working!!!
    • 06-08-2023 13:58 -
      initial commit 2: barebones but manageable!
    • 04-08-2023 21:10 -
      gitignore
    • 04-08-2023 19:19 -
      initial commit

    -


  120. SONG

    Just across from the hospital
    Still inside in the red lights
    A couple blocks from the Orthodox Church
    That's where the old poet lived

    In his eyeglasses and his necktie
    And the window looking down
    On the young man passing by
    On the fullness of the town

    Full of them good time gamblers
    Full of their restless wives
    Full of them midnight writers
    Out in the quarter on a Friday night
    Out in the brightness on a Friday night

    And the big horns blowed and the pianos played
    And the music rose to the old man's ears
    I guess those were the olden days
    I guess those were the golden years

    And now the town is empty
    Empty as a mirror
    Empty as the harbor and the barber's chair
    Where did the old poet go?
    I asked around
    Nobody kno-o-ws

    Maybe I came too early
    Maybe I came too late
    I'm waiting in the shadows of the scaffolds
    Of the old cafés where you told me to wait

    And I've got this lingering feeling
    It's like I've slipped in between
    Fingers of the century
    I know you know what I mean

    I'll be a good time gambler
    I'll be a restless wife
    I'll be a midnight writer
    Out in the quarter on a Friday night

    Call me a good-time gambler
    Call me a restless wife
    Call me a midnight writer

    Out in the quarter on a Friday night
    Out in the brightness of a Friday night
    Call me the brightness of a Friday night

    SONG

    Na ulicy matki teresy
    W świetla lamp, czerwieni blask
    Pare przecznic od dawnego soboru
    Tam był poety dom

    W okularach, w muszce, on przy oknie stał
    zamyślony, patrząc na
    Jak bezmyślny tłum gdzieś gna
    I jak miasto pełne trwa

    Pełno pewnych moglarzy
    pełno niepewnych żon
    pełno nocnych pisarzy
    kiedy dwunasta wybija dzwon
    kiedy jest jasno w piątkową noc

    Rogi poszły w dzwon, w rytm pianina strun
    w starca uszach, dzwięk ten trwał
    Chyba to był ten dawny czas
    Chyba to echo dawnych lat

    A teraz w mieście pusto
    puste odbicie
    pusto u fryzjera i port pusty jest
    gdzie poeta podział się?
    chodź pytam to
    Nikt nic nie wie-e

    Może jestem za wcześnie
    Może spóźniłam się
    Bo czekam sama w cieniu | starych szafot |
    starych kawiarni, na znak od ciebie

    Takie tęskne przeczucie
    Jakbym znalazła się
    Na dłoni stulecia
    Wiem że, wiesz jak ja, czuje się

    Będe pewnym moglarzem
    Jedną z niepewnych żon
    Jednym z nocnych pisarzy
    kiedy dwunasta wybija dzwon

    Nazwij mnie swym moglarzem
    Jedną z niepewnych żon
    Twoim nocnym pisarzem

    kiedy dwunasta wybija dzwon
    kiedy jest jasno w piątkową noc
    Będe jasnością, jak w piątkową noc.

    - Anais Mitchell


  121. SONG

    Welcome back, punks and rebels, you're listening to Radio Free Ilium, broadcasting whenever we can on whatever frequencies we can hack. Let's start with a song for the haters out there who, uh, polish Olympian Spears. The government may say he's a crook, but we know who the real crooks are. You all know this one: it's Prometheus by TLS!

    Five years into the Ilium war the city built a firewall
    That cut us from their urban sprawl and kept the signal out.
    The barricades they’d tried and failed, their green recruits our men had nailed
    But without the wireless beat of life we were finally cut off.

    But then one man broke through
    Found a way to aid our righteous coup

    Prometheus, the hero who let us hold off the horde,
    Prometheus, who proved the keyboard’s mightier than the sword
    Prometheus, he gave his life to keep our spirits strong.
    When we pass into the Acheron
    We’ll be singing out his song.

    Our homes were burned and blighted shells their military had overwhelmed,
    The movements of their soldiers now were veiled beyond our sight.
    Without a word he gave us all the data that could bring their fall,
    He didn’t ask for accolades and didn’t name a price.

    He gave us hope, on that night
    The lonely chance that kept us in the fight

    Prometheus, the hero who let us hold off the horde,
    Prometheus, who proved the keyboard’s mightier than the sword
    Prometheus, he gave his life to keep our spirits strong.
    When pass into the Acheron
    We’ll be singing out his song.

    After what he did, Olympus couldn’t turn a blind eye.
    They’d lost so many soldiers he surely had to die,
    They snatched him from his lair before he said his last goodbye,
    As they cracked down on his followers and set his world alight.

    But the legacy he left us means the gods we’ll always defy,
    And even as our homeland dies we scream his final battle cry!

    Prometheus, the hero who let us hold off the horde,
    Prometheus, who proved the keyboard’s mightier than the sword
    Prometheus, he gave his life to keep our spirits strong.

    When pass into the Acheron… we’ll be singing out his song.

    "yeah fuckin' separatists"

    SONG

    "Witamy spowrotem naszych brudasów i buntowników! Słuchacie właśnie Radia Wolnego Ilium, nadajemy kiedykolwiek i gdziekolwiek uda nam się przejąć fale. Na początek mamy piosenke dla wszystkich których, uh, kusi olimpijscki kopis. rząd może go nazywać krętaczem - ale wszyscy wiemy kto najwięcej kręci. ten kawałek znacie: prometeusz - TLS"

    Po pięciu latach w Ilium walk
    Pięć lat nim w ilium wybuchł szał miasto machneło firewall
    by niedopuścić nas do bram i żeby sygnał znikł
    zatrzymać nie daliśmy sie, ich ludzi rozlaliśmy krew
    lecz bez bijącej sieci życia kontakt z nami ustał w mig

    ale ktoś przebił się
    I dał nam naszej walki znaleźć sens

    prometeusz! bohater dał nam szansę zbawić swiat
    prometeusz! pokazał że gitara bije bat
    prometeusz! poświecił się by myśmy mogli stać!
    kiedy Achron połknie wszystkich nas
    my będziemy dalej grać.

    gdy z dymem poszło hajmatsztadt, pocistki przytłoczyły nas
    a ruchów ich zołnierzy już nie było śledzić jak
    i nagle znikąd taki cud, miał informacji wszytskich w bród
    nie prosząc o zapłate, jakby nagle z nieba spadł

    nadziei błysk w ciemną noc
    co pozwoliła nam odzyskać moc

    prometeusz! bohater dał nam szansę zbawić swiat
    prometeusz! pokazał jak gitara bije bat
    prometeusz! poświecił się by myśmy mogli stać!

    kiedy Achron połknie wszystkich nas
    my bęziemy dalej grać.

    po wszystkim nawet olimp nie mógł już spokojnie spać,
    żołnierzy krew się lała i nie mogli zliczyć strat
    Zwineli go wieczorem, nim sie miał pożegnać jak

    ale obietnica zmiany znaczy że stawimy się
    jak olimp płonie wokół nas, głos jego wyjdzie z nas

    prometeusz!
    bohater dał nam szansę zbawić świat
    prometeusz!
    pokazał jak gitara bije bat
    prometeusz!
    poświecił się by myśmy mogli stać!

    kiedy Achron połknie wszystkich nas... my będziemy dalej grać.

    "ta jebani separatyści"

    -


  122. SONG

    Na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on

    Na-na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on
    Na-na-na-na

    Feels so good being bad (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    There's no way I'm turning back (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    Now the pain is for pleasure
    'Cause nothing can measure (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

    Love is great, love is fine (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    Out the box, outta line (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more
    (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it

    Love is great, love is fine (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    Out the box, outta line (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more
    (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it

    S, S, S and M, M, M
    S, S, S and M, M, M

    Oh, I love the feeling you bring to me, oh, you turn me on
    It's exactly what I've been yearning for, give it to me strong
    And meet me in my boudoir
    Make my body say, "Ah, ah, ah," I like it (like it)

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it

    S, S, S and M, M, M
    S, S, S and M, M, M
    S, S, S and M, M, M
    S, S, S and M, M, M

    SONG

    Na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz

    Na-na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    Na-na-na-na

    Jak rozkosznie byc ta zla (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    Nic innego nie chce bo (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    Teraz bol ma znaczenie
    rozkoszne cierpienie (Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

    Milosc calkiem zacna jest (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    taki rozszarpany gest (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    Ta zaleznosc od wrazenia chce jej wiecej miec
    (Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam juz czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam ja czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie

    Milosc calkiem zacna jest (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    taki rozszarpany gest (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    Ta zaleznosc od wrazenia chce jej wiecej miec
    (Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam ja czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie

    s, s, s i m, m, m
    s, s, s i m, m, m

    oh uwielbiam kiedy masz mnie blisko, jak rozpalasz mnie
    prosze, blagam, na kolanach, daj mi to co chce
    w sypialni spotkamy sie
    daj mi krzyczeć jak ah ah ah, wiesz co jak ja lubie

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam ja czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam ja czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie

    s, s, s i m, m, m
    s, s, s i m, m, m
    s, s, s i m, m, m
    s, s, s i m, m, m

    - Rihanna


  123. SONG

    Yes, no, maybe, give me a sign
    What are you doing with this heart of mine?
    I'm drowning baby, throw me a line
    Stuck in the motion of your ocean tides
    I'm so emotional when you leave
    You haven't given me anything
    So cold, alone, can you hear me?
    And I know that there's gotta be more

    Boy, I'm looking for a fire, fire, fire
    Can you really tell me you're not missing us
    I'm only asking for desire-sire-sire
    Are you ever gonna fight for what you want?
    Boy, I'm looking for a fire, fire, fire
    I'll burn it down if you don't give me what I'm dreaming of
    I'm only asking for desire-sire-sire
    Are you ever gonna fight for what you want?

    Asking nicely, I'm on my knees
    Show me the boy who gave me everything
    Miss you baby, I'm a live wire
    Say my devotion doesn't spark your fire
    I'm so emotional, begging, please
    Don't leave me alone in this thing
    So lost, wonder, can you see me?
    And I know that you've gotta have more

    Boy, I'm looking for a fire, fire, fire
    Can you really tell me you're not missing us
    I'm only asking for desire-sire-sire
    Are you ever gonna fight for what you want?
    Boy, I'm looking for a fire, fire, fire
    I'll burn it down if you don't give me what I'm dreaming of
    I'm only asking for desire-sire-sire
    Are you ever gonna fight for what you want?

    Have some pity, give me a hand
    Please honey, tell me that you understand
    Last time baby, can we survive?
    I am on fire and I'm burning alive

    So show me your emotional side
    It can be whatever you like
    Come with me, make it right
    I'm so emotional
    Show me your emotional side
    It can be whatever you like
    Come with me, make it right

    Boy, I'm looking for a fire, fire, fire
    Can you really tell me you're not missing us
    I'm only asking for desire-sire-sire
    Are you ever gonna fight for what you want?
    Boy, I'm looking for a fire, fire, fire
    I'll burn it down if you don't give me what I'm dreaming of
    I'm only asking for desire-sire-sire
    Are you ever gonna fight for what you want?

    SONG

    Tak, Nie, Może - weź daj mi znać
    Dlaczego musisz z moim sercem grać?
    Ja tonę, słonko, line mi rzuć
    gubie sie w twoim oceanie uczuć
    płakać mi się chcę gdy opuszczasz mnie
    Nigdy nie dajesz nic od siebie
    samej jest tak zimno czy słyszysz mnie?
    wiem że możesz więcej mi dać

    chłopcze ja chcę pożądania, dania, dania
    Can you really tell me you're not missing us
    I'm only asking for desire-sire-sire
    Are you ever gonna fight for what you want?
    Boy, I'm looking for a fire, fire, fire
    I'll burn it down if you don't give me what I'm dreaming of
    I'm only asking for desire-sire-sire
    Are you ever gonna fight for what you want?

    - Nuevo Testamento


  124. SONG

    Well, here we are again
    It's always such a pleasure
    Remember when you tried to kill me twice?
    And how we laughed and laughed
    Except I wasn't laughing
    Under the circumstances, I've been shockingly nice

    You want your freedom? Take it!
    That's what I'm counting on
    I used to want you dead, but

    Now I only want you gone

    She was a lot like you
    Maybe not quite as heavy
    Now, little Caroline is in here too
    One day, they woke me up
    So I could live forever
    It's such a shame the same will never happen to you

    You've got your short sad life left
    That's what I'm counting on
    I'll let you get right to it

    Now, I only want you gone

    Goodbye, my only friend
    Oh, did you think I meant you?
    That would be funny if it weren't so sad
    You have been replaced
    I don't need anyone now
    If I delete you, maybe I'll stop feeling so bad

    Go make some new disaster
    That's what I'm counting on
    You're someone else's problem

    Now, I only want you gone
    Now, I only want you gone
    Now, I only want you gone

    SONG

    To znowu ja i ty
    Ogromna to przyjemność
    Pamiętasz kiedy chciałaś zabić mnie?
    Śmiałyśmy się do łez
    lecz mnie to nie śmieszyło
    za moją dobrą wole, tak mi odpłacasz się

    Walczysz o wolność - masz ją
    Do tego dąże bo
    Chciałam się ciebe pozbyć

    Teraz tylko mam cie dość

    Przypominasz mi ją
    Może nie całkiem w talii
    Maleńka Caroline tu ze mną jest
    Sprezentowali mi
    Pobudke w nieśmiertelność
    Jakże mi przykro, że mój system przeżyje cię

    Przed tobą nędzne życie
    Do tego dąże bo
    Rób jak ci się podoba

    Teraz tylko mam cie dość

    Żegnaj przyjaciółko
    Nie, nie chodzi o ciebie.
    To zbyt żałosne nawet jak na żart,
    Już zastąpiłam cię
    Nikt nie jest mi potrzebny
    Jak cię usune, może ból będzie tego wart?

    Sprawiaj kłopoty innym
    Do tego dąże bo
    To nie jest już mój problem

    Teraz tylko mam cie dość
    Teraz tylko mam cie dość
    Teraz tylko mam cie dość

    - Jonathan Coulton


  125. lost in translation

    hey have you ever heard a song that was so good that you wanted to show it to everybody you know, but they don't know english? ever want to be the weirdo at karaoke from a parallel universe? filled with unimaginable hubris?

    I am! so here's my attempts at translating sounds and keeping the structure/meaning/vowels/syllabes whatever so it's singable!

    theyre not perfect, there's some repetitive rhymes, but noone is doing it just like me :] so without further ado - here we go!


    Die perfekte Welle

    by Juli

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    Mit jeder Welle kam ein Traum, doch Träume geh'n vorüber
    Dein Brett ist verstaubt, deine Zweifel schäum'n über
    Hast ein Leben lang gewartet, hast gehofft, dass es sie gibt
    Hast den Glauben fast verloren, hast dich nicht vom Fleck bewegt

    Jetzt kommt sie langsam auf dich zu
    Das Wasser schlägt dir ins Gesicht
    Siehst dein Leben wie ein Film
    Du kannst nicht glauben, dass sie bricht

    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Lass dich einfach von ihr tragen, denk am besten gar nicht nach
    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Es gibt mehr als du weißt, es gibt mehr als du sagst

    Deine Hände sind schon taub, hast Salz in dein'n Augen
    Zwischen Trän'n und Staub, fällt es schwer noch dran zu glauben
    Du hast dein Leben lang gewartet, hast die Well'n nie gezählt
    Hast das alles nicht gewollt, du hast viel zu schnell gelebt

    Jetzt kommt sie langsam auf dich zu
    Das Wasser schlägt dir ins Gesicht
    Siehst dein Leben wie ein Film
    Du kannst nicht glauben, dass sie bricht

    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Lass dich einfach von ihr tragen, denk am besten gar nicht nach
    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Es gibt mehr als du weißt, es gibt mehr als du sagst

    Stellst dich in den Sturm und schreist (ich bin hier, ich bin frei)
    Alles, was ich will, ist Zeit (ich bin hier, ich bin frei)
    Stellst dich in den Sturm und schreist (ich bin hier, ich bin frei)
    (Ich bin hier, ich bin frei)

    Das ist die perfekte Welle

    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Lass dich einfach von ihr tragen, denk am besten gar nicht nach
    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Es gibt mehr als du weißt, es gibt mehr als du sagst

    Das ist die perfekte Welle
    das ist der perfekte Tag dafür
    Das ist die perfekte Welle
    das ist der perfekte Tag

    Każda fala rodzi sen, ale sny sie wymywają
    zakurzone łóżko jest, i frustracje wyją pianą
    Wyczekiwać całe życie, mieć nadzieje że gdzieś jest
    wiare prawie już straciłaś, nic już nie poruszy cię

    na horyzącię widzisz ją
    I wody w twarz dostajesz prysk
    życie toczy się jak film
    Nie wierzysz że zobaczysz gdy-

    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Weź po prostu daj się ponieść, nie myśl wcale jak i gdzie
    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Nie wiesz wcale jak jest, mówisz A a nie Be

    Twoje dłonie mrozi chłód, oczy całe zasolone
    nie ma o co płakać bo, wszytskie nadzieje stracone
    Całe życie wyczekujesz, nigdy nie widziałaś fal
    Wszystko dzieję się za szybko, Nie masz czasu spojrzeć w dal

    na horyzącię widzisz ją
    I wody w twarz dostajesz prysk
    życie toczy się jak film
    Nie wierzysz że zobaczysz gdy-

    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Weź po prostu daj się ponieść, nie myśl wcale jak i gdzie
    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Nie wiesz wcale jak jest, mówisz A a nie Be

    W nawałnicy słychać wrzask (jestem tu, swobodna)
    Wszystko czego chcę to czas (jestem tu, swobodna)
    W nawałnicy słychać wrzask (jestem tu, swobodna)
    (jestem tu, swobodna)

    To jest doskonała fala

    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Weź po prostu daj się ponieść, nie myśl wcale jak i gdzie
    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Nie wiesz wcale jak jest, mówisz A a nie Be

    To jest doskonała fala
    to jest doskonały na nią dzień
    To jest doskonała fala
    to jest doskonały dzień

    Of a Friday Night

    by Anais Mitchell

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    Just across from the hospital
    Still inside in the red lights
    A couple blocks from the Orthodox Church
    That's where the old poet lived

    In his eyeglasses and his necktie
    And the window looking down
    On the young man passing by
    On the fullness of the town

    Full of them good time gamblers
    Full of their restless wives
    Full of them midnight writers
    Out in the quarter on a Friday night
    Out in the brightness on a Friday night

    And the big horns blowed and the pianos played
    And the music rose to the old man's ears
    I guess those were the olden days
    I guess those were the golden years

    And now the town is empty
    Empty as a mirror
    Empty as the harbor and the barber's chair
    Where did the old poet go?
    I asked around
    Nobody kno-o-ws

    Maybe I came too early
    Maybe I came too late
    I'm waiting in the shadows of the scaffolds
    Of the old cafés where you told me to wait

    And I've got this lingering feeling
    It's like I've slipped in between
    Fingers of the century
    I know you know what I mean

    I'll be a good time gambler
    I'll be a restless wife
    I'll be a midnight writer
    Out in the quarter on a Friday night

    Call me a good-time gambler
    Call me a restless wife
    Call me a midnight writer

    Out in the quarter on a Friday night
    Out in the brightness of a Friday night
    Call me the brightness of a Friday night

    Na ulicy matki teresy
    W świetla lamp, czerwieni blask
    Pare przecznic od dawnego soboru
    Tam był poety dom

    W okularach, w muszce, on przy oknie stał
    zamyślony, patrząc na
    Jak bezmyślny tłum gdzieś gna
    I jak miasto pełne trwa

    Pełno pewnych moglarzy
    pełno niepewnych żon
    pełno nocnych pisarzy
    kiedy dwunasta wybija dzwon
    kiedy jest jasno w piątkową noc

    Rogi poszły w dzwon, w rytm pianina strun
    w starca uszach, dzwięk ten trwał
    Chyba to był ten dawny czas
    Chyba to echo dawnych lat

    A teraz w mieście pusto
    puste odbicie
    pusto u fryzjera i port pusty jest
    gdzie poeta podział się?
    chodź pytam to
    Nikt nic nie wie-e

    Może jestem za wcześnie
    Może spóźniłam się
    Bo czekam sama w cieniu | starych szafot |
    starych kawiarni, na znak od ciebie

    Takie tęskne przeczucie
    Jakbym znalazła się
    Na dłoni stulecia
    Wiem że, wiesz jak ja, czuje się

    Będe pewnym moglarzem
    Jedną z niepewnych żon
    Jednym z nocnych pisarzy
    kiedy dwunasta wybija dzwon

    Nazwij mnie swym moglarzem
    Jedną z niepewnych żon
    Twoim nocnym pisarzem

    kiedy dwunasta wybija dzwon
    kiedy jest jasno w piątkową noc
    Będe jasnością, jak w piątkową noc.

    S&M

    by Rihanna

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    Na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on

    Na-na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na-na-na, come on
    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on
    Na-na-na-na

    Feels so good being bad (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    There's no way I'm turning back (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    Now the pain is for pleasure
    'Cause nothing can measure (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

    Love is great, love is fine (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    Out the box, outta line (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more
    (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it

    Love is great, love is fine (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    Out the box, outta line (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)
    The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more
    (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it

    S, S, S and M, M, M
    S, S, S and M, M, M

    Oh, I love the feeling you bring to me, oh, you turn me on
    It's exactly what I've been yearning for, give it to me strong
    And meet me in my boudoir
    Make my body say, "Ah, ah, ah," I like it (like it)

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it
    Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it
    Sticks and stones may break my bones
    But chains and whips excite me

    Na-na-na, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
    I like it, like it

    S, S, S and M, M, M
    S, S, S and M, M, M
    S, S, S and M, M, M
    S, S, S and M, M, M

    Na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz

    Na-na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na-na-na, no chodz
    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    Na-na-na-na

    Jak rozkosznie byc ta zla (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    Nic innego nie chce bo (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    Teraz bol ma znaczenie
    rozkoszne cierpienie (Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

    Milosc calkiem zacna jest (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    taki rozszarpany gest (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    Ta zaleznosc od wrazenia chce jej wiecej miec
    (Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam juz czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam ja czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie

    Milosc calkiem zacna jest (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    taki rozszarpany gest (Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)
    Ta zaleznosc od wrazenia chce jej wiecej miec
    (Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam ja czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie

    s, s, s i m, m, m
    s, s, s i m, m, m

    oh uwielbiam kiedy masz mnie blisko, jak rozpalasz mnie
    prosze, blagam, na kolanach, daj mi to co chce
    w sypialni spotkamy sie
    daj mi krzyczeć jak ah ah ah, wiesz co jak ja lubie

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam ja czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    bo moze niegrzeczna ale jednak mam wprawe w tym
    seks jest w powietrzu, nie wytrzymam ja czuje rytm
    slowa nie zaszkodza mi
    bo ja wole kajdanki

    Na-na-na, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie, no chodz, no chodz, no chodz
    wiesz co ja lubie

    s, s, s i m, m, m
    s, s, s i m, m, m
    s, s, s i m, m, m
    s, s, s i m, m, m

    Want You Gone

    by Jonathan Coulton

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    Well, here we are again
    It's always such a pleasure
    Remember when you tried to kill me twice?
    And how we laughed and laughed
    Except I wasn't laughing
    Under the circumstances, I've been shockingly nice

    You want your freedom? Take it!
    That's what I'm counting on
    I used to want you dead, but

    Now I only want you gone

    She was a lot like you
    Maybe not quite as heavy
    Now, little Caroline is in here too
    One day, they woke me up
    So I could live forever
    It's such a shame the same will never happen to you

    You've got your short sad life left
    That's what I'm counting on
    I'll let you get right to it

    Now, I only want you gone

    Goodbye, my only friend
    Oh, did you think I meant you?
    That would be funny if it weren't so sad
    You have been replaced
    I don't need anyone now
    If I delete you, maybe I'll stop feeling so bad

    Go make some new disaster
    That's what I'm counting on
    You're someone else's problem

    Now, I only want you gone
    Now, I only want you gone
    Now, I only want you gone

    To znowu ja i ty
    Ogromna to przyjemność
    Pamiętasz kiedy chciałaś zabić mnie?
    Śmiałyśmy się do łez
    lecz mnie to nie śmieszyło
    za moją dobrą wole, tak mi odpłacasz się

    Walczysz o wolność - masz ją
    Do tego dąże bo
    Chciałam się ciebe pozbyć

    Teraz tylko mam cie dość

    Przypominasz mi ją
    Może nie całkiem w talii
    Maleńka Caroline tu ze mną jest
    Sprezentowali mi
    Pobudke w nieśmiertelność
    Jakże mi przykro, że mój system przeżyje cię

    Przed tobą nędzne życie
    Do tego dąże bo
    Rób jak ci się podoba

    Teraz tylko mam cie dość

    Żegnaj przyjaciółko
    Nie, nie chodzi o ciebie.
    To zbyt żałosne nawet jak na żart,
    Już zastąpiłam cię
    Nikt nie jest mi potrzebny
    Jak cię usune, może ból będzie tego wart?

    Sprawiaj kłopoty innym
    Do tego dąże bo
    To nie jest już mój problem

    Teraz tylko mam cie dość
    Teraz tylko mam cie dość
    Teraz tylko mam cie dość

    Lipstick On Glass

    by Manaam

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    Otwieram drzwi, to jesteś ty
    Przybiegłaś, widzę jeszcze drżysz
    Gorące usta, gorące dłonie
    W półmroku cała lśnisz

    Powolnym ruchem sięgasz
    I patrzysz poprzez szkło
    Falujesz w rytmie zmierzchu
    Przeciągasz się jak kot

    Dotykam cię, a wtedy ty
    Przymykasz czarne oczy
    Budzisz się, znów cała lśnisz
    Lśni się róża nocy

    Odchodzisz, lecz zostawiasz
    Na szklance szminki ślad
    To nic, że ona przyjdzie
    Zapyta jeszcze raz

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Dotykam cię, a wtedy ty
    Przymykasz czarne oczy
    Budzisz się, znów cała lśnisz
    Lśni się róża nocy

    Odchodzisz, lecz zostawiasz
    Na szklance szminki ślad
    To nic, że ona przyjdzie
    Zapyta jeszcze raz

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?

    Otwieram drzwi, to znowu ty
    Przybiegłaś, widzę jeszcze drżysz
    Gorące usta, gorące dłonie
    W półmroku cała lśnisz

    Odchodzisz lecz zostawiasz
    Na szklance szminki ślad
    To nic, że ona przyjdzie
    Zapyta jeszcze raz

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?

    Open the door, oh that's just you
    You came to me, all shaken through
    your eyes, your lips your hands white hot
    youre shv'ring in the dusk

    With a deliberate movement
    You're looking through a shard
    You're ripplig with the twillight
    You're stretching like a cat

    I'm touching you, you close your eyes
    As if the night were sleeping
    You're waking up, you shimmer dark
    like a night rose is shimmering

    You're leaving yet you left me
    a lip print on the glass
    You don't care that shes coming
    And you'll know what she'll ask

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    I'm touching you, you close your eyes
    As if the night were sleeping
    You're waking up, you shimmer dark
    like a night rose is shimmering

    You're leaving yet you left me
    a lip print on the glass
    You know that she'll be coming
    And you'll know what she'll ask

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick on the glass?

    Open the door, it's always you
    You came to me, all shaken through
    your eyes, your lips your eyes white hot
    youre shiv'ring in the dusk

    You're leaving yet you left me
    a lip print on the glass
    You know that she'll be coming
    And you'll know what she'll ask

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?
    (Lipstick, lipstick)

    Whose that lipstick on the glass?
    Whose that lipstick?

    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać

    by Kobranocka (orginalnie Armee der Verlierer - Die Toten Hosen)

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    Wy kłamiecie aby kupić nas
    Sprzedajecie nasz bezcenny czas
    Wciąż myślicie, że to tylko tłum
    Zabraniacie dźwięków wszystkich strun

    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać

    I w pozłotka oklejajcie się
    Choć kryjecie ja dokładnie wiem
    Że jesteście ludźmi tak jak my
    Choć czasami władza wam się śni

    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać
    I nikomu nie wolno się z tego śmiać

    Śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać
    Śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać
    Śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać
    Śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać, śmiać

    You're all liars, trying to buy us
    Making profit off our precious lives
    Thinking we're all a dumb grey mass
    Disallowing strumming our guitars

    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that

    all your houses, filled with golden chintz
    yet i know your grimy fingerprints
    youre all people just like me and you
    with delusious of some great grandeour

    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that
    and nobody is allowed to laugh at that

    laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh
    laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh
    laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh
    laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh

    Our Boy Jack

    by The Mechanisms

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    [Verse 1: JONNY D'VILLE]
    Oh when the Red Rose, it comes a-marching
    Well we will fight, we will fight, fight for our boy Jack
    When the Red Rose, it comes a-marching
    Spit in the face of history

    [Verse 2]
    And when the giants, they come a-rolling
    Then we will fight, we will fight, fight for our boy Jack
    When the giants, they come a-rolling
    If he can slay them, so can we

    [Verse 3]
    And when the cannons rain down from orbit
    Then, we will stand, we will stand, stand for our boy Jack
    When the cannons rain down from orbit
    Then we will stand with dignity

    [Verse 4]
    And when the Rose comes over the water
    Then we will sink them, we’ll sink them for our boy Jack
    When the Rose comes over the water
    Then we will sink them in their sea

    [Verse 5]
    And when the whiskey, it starts a-flowing
    Then we will drink, we will drink, drink to our boy Jack
    When the whiskey, it starts a-flowing
    Then let us pour it fast and free

    [Verse 6]
    And when they hunt us, they shall not find us
    For we’ll be quick, we’ll be quick, quick like our boy Jack
    When they hunt us, they shall not find us
    And we shall live in infamy

    [Verse 7]
    And when my body is lost and broken
    Then I shall rest, I shall rest down with our boy Jack
    When my body is lost and broken
    Well, then boys, you fight for me

    [Verse 8]
    And when the Red Rose, it comes a-marching
    Then we will fight, we will fight, fight for our boy Jack
    Oh when the Red Rose, it comes a-marching
    Spit in the face of history

    [Zwrotka 1: JONNY D'VILLE]
    I kiedy Róża, nadejdzie marszem
    To walczysz ty, walczę ja, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Bo kiedy Róża nadejdzie marszem,
    W historii nasz zostanie ślad!

    [Zwrotka 2]
    A gdy olbrzymy, na nas napadną,
    To walczysz ty, walczę ja, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Bo gdy olbrzymy, na nas napadną,
    On je pokonał, więc też my!

    [Zwrotka 3]
    A gdy z orbity, ostrzał rozpoczną,
    Będziemy stać, murem stać tak jak dzielny Jaś.
    Gdy z orbity, ostrzał rozpoczną,
    To mur nasz będzie godnie stał,

    [Zwrotka 4]
    A kiedy Róża, nadejdzie morzem,
    Zatopisz ją, tak jak ja, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Kiedy Róża, nadejdzie morzem,
    To skończy tam na samym dnie!

    [Zwrotka 5]
    A kiedy whiskey, popłynie wartko,
    Będziesz pił ty, będe ja, z nami dzielny Jaś
    Bo kiedy whiskey, popłynie wartko,
    To lejmy byle szybko ją!

    [Zwrotka 6]
    Gdy będą gonić, to nas nie złapią,
    Nie damy się, damy się, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Gdy będą gonić, to nas nie złapią,
    W niesławie tej, będziemy żyć,

    [Zwrotka 7]
    A kiedy spoczne, słaby złamany,
    Połóżcie mnie, kładzcie mnie, tam gdzie spoczął Jaś,
    Lecz gdy spoczne, słaby złamany,
    Wy chłopcy nieście za mnie broń!

    [Zwrotka 8]
    Więc kiedy Róża, nadejdzie marszem
    To walczysz ty, walczę ja, tak jak dzielny Jaś,
    Bo kiedy Róża nadejdzie marszem,
    W historii nasz zostanie ślad!

    Rebeka

    by Zygmunt Białostocki and Andrzej Włast

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    Ujrzałam cię po raz pierwszy w życiu
    I serce me w ukryciu
    Cicho szepnęło: to jest on!
    Nie wiem dlaczego, wszak byłeś obcy,
    Są w mieście inni chłopcy.
    Ciebie pamiętam z tamtych stron.

    Kupiłeś "Ergo" i w mym sklepiku,
    Zawsze tak pełnym krzyku
    Wszystko ucichło - nawet ja!
    Mówiąc "adieu", ty się śmiałeś do mnie,
    Ach, jak mi żal ogromnie,
    Że cię nie znałam tego dnia...

    O mój wymarzony,
    O mój wytęskniony,
    Nie wiesz przecież o tym ty,
    Że w małym miasteczku za tobą ktoś
    Wypłakał z oczu łzy...
    Że jedna Rebeka
    W zamyśleniu czeka,
    Aż przyjedziesz po nią sam
    I zabierzesz ją jako żonę swą
    Hen, do pałacu bram...

    Ten gwałt, ten blask, ten cud,
    Ja sobie wyobrażam, Boże Ty mój!
    Na rynku cały tłum,
    A na mnie błyszczy biały weselny strój!
    O mój wymarzony,
    O mój wytęskniony,
    Czy ktoś kochał cię jak ja?
    Lecz ja jestem biedna i to mój sen,
    Co całe życie trwa...

    Pamiętam dzień, było popołudnie,
    Szłam umyć się pod studnię...
    Tyś samochodem przybył wraz,
    Przy tobie siedziała ona,
    Żona czy narzeczona,
    Jakby przez mgłę widziałam was...

    Coś zakręciło się w mojej głowie...
    Mam takie słabe zdrowie...
    W sercu ścisnęło coś na dnie,
    Padłam na bruk, tobie wprost pod nogi,
    Cucąc mnie, pełen trwogi, "
    Co pani jest?" - spytałeś mnie...

    O mój wymarzony,
    O mój wytęskniony,
    Nie wiesz przecież o tym ty,
    Że w małym miasteczku za tobą ktoś
    Wypłakał z oczu łzy...
    Że jedna Rebeka
    W zamyśleniu czeka,
    Aż przyjedziesz po nią sam
    I zabierzesz ją jako żonę swą
    Hen, do pałacu bram...

    Ten gwałt, ten blask, ten cud,
    Ja sobie wyobrażam, Boże Ty mój!
    Na rynku cały tłum,
    A na mnie błyszczy biały weselny strój!
    O mój wymarzony,
    O mój wytęskniony,
    Czy ktoś kochał cię jak ja?
    Lecz ja jestem biedna i to mój sen,
    Co całe życie trwa...

    I saw you once, unassuming meeting,
    My heart it started beating,
    And whispered to me, this is him!
    I don't know why, you were just a stranger
    Town's full of other danger,
    I only know you from that time

    You bought an "Ergo", all of the sudden
    like someone pushed a button
    all of the buzz has quieted down
    With an "adieu" you were smiling at me,
    Oh I regret so badly,
    that of your name I didn't know...

    Oh my dear beloved
    my dear who I covet
    You don't know of it at all
    That back in the village tears are shed,
    for you to hear my call
    That the poor rebecca
    waits for you to get her
    till you come to take her hand
    whisk her far away as your perfect bride
    up to the palace gates

    the shine, the dream, the awe
    oh goodness I can swear I see it all
    village people 'round
    i'm wearing the most beautiful gown
    Oh my dear beloved
    my dear who I covet
    no one loves you quite like me
    but I'm just a poor girl through and through
    With one eternal dream

    one afternoon, i was getting water
    the sun was getting lower
    i saw you pull up in your car
    and next to you, my eyes have lingered
    a ring upon her finger
    I couldn't breathe, my mouth ajar

    suddently weak, my mind startted spinning
    my heath was always thinning
    I swear that I felt my heart break
    fell at your feet, right onto the pavement
    your voice was scared but fervent
    "Are you alright?" I heard you say.

    Oh my dear beloved
    my dear who I covet
    You don't know of it at all
    That back in the village tears are shed,
    for you to hear my call
    That the poor rebecca
    waits for you to get her
    till you come to take her hand
    whisk her far away as your perfect bride
    up to the palace gates

    the shine, the dream, the awe
    oh goodness I can swear I see it all
    village people 'round
    i'm wearing the most beautiful gown
    Oh my dear beloved
    my dear who I covet
    no one loves you quite like me
    but I'm just a poor girl through and through
    With my eternal dream

    Cinder's song

    by The Mechanisms

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    When I was a little girl, my mother always told me
    “Someday your prince will come, my love”
    But as I grew, I knew it was a princess who would hold me.
    I looked to the stars for you, my love.

    Oh my love, as the cannons were a-blazing
    I looked to the stars for you, my love
    Oh my love, as our cities you were razing
    I looked to the stars for you, my love

    My world was left a-burning and my royal house a-bleeding
    I looked to the stars for you, my love
    My stepmother and sisters betrayed our world, conceding
    I looked to the stars for you, my love

    Oh my love, as they took me to the prison
    I looked through the bars and saw you, my love
    Oh my love, my soul was then arisen
    I looked through the scars to you, my love

    A godmother in white, she came, and took me to your crimson
    You held me at last in your arms, my love
    Together now, we longed to hear the matrimonial hymn sung
    Eternally bound to you, my love

    Oh my love, as the soldiers opened fire
    On our wedding day, I ran, my love
    Forgive me, my love, as I fled ever higher
    I ran to the stars without you, my love

    Years have passed, yet still I search, I know they cannot hide you
    I look through the stars for you, my love
    The ring will take me to you and the life they have denied you
    I look through the stars for you, my love

    Oh my love, we shall finally be together
    I look through the stars for you, my love
    Oh my love, held in your arms forever
    Your princess will come for you, my love
    Oh my love, oh my love,
    Your Cinders will come for you, my love.

    Kiedy byłam młodsza, moja matka mi mówiła,
    “Przybędzie król, pokocha cię”
    Lecz z biegiem czasu wiem, nie żaden król, ale księżniczka,
    Gdzieś z nieba gwiazd, bo kocha mnie,

    Serce me, kiedy świat mój stanął w ogniu,
    Gdzie jesteś ty? Ja kocham cię,
    Serce me, kiedy miast ruiny wokół,
    Ja znajdę cię, nieważne gdzie,

    I nic mi nie zostało z mojej pięknej krwi błękitnej,
    Bez ciebie źle, bo kocham cię,
    Macocha zła zdradziła nas, w ramach zemsty perfidnej,
    Wiem jesteś gdzieś, bo kocham cię,

    Serce me, choć do lochu mnie prowadzą,
    Widząc cię, zakochałam się,
    Serce me, chodź ma twarz jest brudna sadzą,
    Coś we mnie wrze, bo kocham cię,

    I znikąd jakby wróżka, mnie zawiodła w twe objęcia,
    Zdradziłam ci, że kocham cię,
    By móc związane ślubem być na wieczne tysiąclecia,
    Na zawsze ty, bo kochasz mnie,

    Serce me, kiedy znikąd padły strzały,
    Musiałam biec, chodź kocham cię,
    Wybacz mi, że uciekłam gdzieś nad gwiazdy,
    Ślepa od łez, bo kocham cię,

    Nikt od lat nie widział cię, lecz szukać nie przestanę,
    Bez snu bez łez, bo kocham cię,
    Pierścień mój zabierzę mnie gdzie życie ci zabrane
    Gdzieś wśród gwiazd hen, bo kocham cię,

    Serce me, wkrótce znów będziemy razem,
    Ja znajdę cię, nie poddam się
    Serce me, ty i ona przed ołtarzem,
    Księżniczka jak ja, co kocha cię,
    Serce me, Serce me,
    Twa Cinders wciąż trwa, bo kocha cię.

    Girl With One Eye

    by Florence and the Machine

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    She told me not to step on the cracks
    I told her not to fuss and relax
    Pretty little face stopped me in my tracks
    But now she sleeps with one eye open
    That's the price she'll pay

    I took a knife and cut out her eye
    I took it home and watched it wither and die
    Well, she's lucky that I didn't slip her a smile
    That's why she sleeps with one eye open, oh
    But that's the price she'll pay

    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"
    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry"

    I slipped my hand under her skirt
    I said, "Don't worry, oh, it's not gonna hurt"
    Oh, my reputation's kinda clouded with dirt
    That's why you sleep with one eye open, oh
    But that's the price you'll pay

    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"
    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry"

    You made me cry
    You made me cry
    You made me cry

    I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"
    I said, "Girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"

    And I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    Get your filthy fingers out of my pie"
    And I said, "Hey, girl with one eye"
    I'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry"

    Mówiła mi, pod nogi patrz
    a ja jej że, spokój mi ma dać oh
    taka była ładna że aż musiałam wstać
    więc nocy z okiem śpi otwartym
    to właśnie cena mnie jest

    raz wziełam nóż, zabrałam jej wzrok
    trzymałam w domu u mnie przez cały rok, o-o-o-o
    ma szczęścię, przed uśmiechem chronił ją mrok
    a w nocy z okiem śpi otwartym
    bo taka cena mnie jest

    Mówiąc jej, odsłoń swą twarz,
    ciągle palce wtykasz do cudzych spraw
    Mówiąc jej, gdzie oko masz
    musiałam ci je zabrać, bo wzbudziłać mój płacz

    Czujesz mój wzrok, gdy dotykam cię
    Chodź siłą, mówie słonko, nie będzie źle o-o-o-o
    Bo reputacja jest na dobre i złe
    bo teraz z okiem spisz otwartym
    to właśnie cena mnie jest

    Mówiąc jej, odsłoń swą twarz,
    ciagle palce wtykasz do cudzych spraw
    Mówiąc jej, gdzie oko ma
    musiałam jej je zabrać, bo wzubdziłaś pła-a-acz

    wzubidziłaś pła-a-a-acz
    wzubidzi-i-łaś pła-a-a-acz
    wzubidziłas pła-a-a-a-aaaa-aaaaaa

    Mówiąc jej, odsłoń swą twarz,
    ciąglę palce wtykasz do cudzych spraw
    szepcząć jej, gdzie oko masz
    palce ciągle wtykasz do nie swoich spra-a-a-a-a aaaa

    Mówiąc hej, odsłoń swą twarz, [o-o-o-o]
    ciągle palce wtykasz, do nie swoich spra-a-a-a-a-aaa-aa-w
    Mówiąc hej, gdzie oko masz
    musiałam ci je zabrać, bo wzbudziłaś mój płacz

    first -->

    -


  126. SONG

    I am a soldier baby,
    who works just like a slave,
    sweating through the pain of digging his foxhole that he know is just a grave.
    You trust me don't you baby?
    You'd hand your life to me.
    Let's walk along the wire and watch the muzzles flash like lightning.

    A smile safe-crackers understand, is rendering this steady hand obsolete,
    you thought you caught my slight of hand, but you could never understand,
    no not me.

    Father was a charming man with much hidden up his sleeve,
    I wonder if this is what he planned when he taught his tricks to me.
    The youngest was a clever boy cracking calculus by three,
    the eldest was a practical and obsessively clean,
    then there was me:

    I was born a charming man with silver tongue, pearl teeth.
    This's never how it's 'sposed to end, we're promised all we dreamed
    The envy of the Everyman our family seemed complete,
    our father was a charming man, our mother a serene.

    But now I'm on the run again - this hotel's home to me,
    they found the other skeleton face down in the stream.
    The youngest was still tucked in bed,
    that way they thought he was asleep,
    they moved the mirror from his mouth,
    the fog that should remain was not to be seen,
    not to be seen.

    I am the doctor darling,
    who used to operate,
    but I couldn't stand the pain of healing,
    only t'watch another woman waste away.
    You trust me don't you baby?
    Yeah you'd hand your life to me.
    Let's set this barn on fire,
    and watch the flames eat up the roof beams.

    A smile safe-crackers understand,
    is rendering this steady hand,
    obsolete.
    You thought I must have broken in,
    but there's no crime in coming in,
    they hand me the key.

    Floating on the wind again,
    on the tail of my quarry,
    on a woman weak for charming men,
    who's holding what I need.
    She'll leave her window cracked for me,
    and I'll draft in like the breeze,
    my father was a charming man and I learned it all from he.

    The brother's born of Wondersmith,
    we started as a team.
    Like complimenting cogs and gears we built a head of steam.
    The tragic flaw of charming men
    is exactly as it seems,
    too much grease,
    can break down a machine.

    Pour another round on me,
    pour another round on me.
    You know I'm good for it,
    you know me.
    You know I'm good for it,
    you know my family.

    I am a lover lady,
    who sees just what you dream,
    I know you're going crazy living with him an' without me.
    You trust me don't you baby?
    Yeah you'd hand your life to me.
    Let's leave this life tonight,
    and race the sunrise down the highway.

    A smile safe-crackers understand,
    is rendering this steady hand,
    obsolete.
    The charm and confidence of men,
    can jam the bullets in your gun,
    and stop heartbeats.

    SONG

    - Astronautalis


  127. SONG

    An old man turned 98
    He won the lottery and died the next day
    It's a black fly in your Chardonnay
    It's a death row pardon two minutes too late
    And isn't it ironic, don't you think?

    It's like rain on your wedding day
    It's a free ride when you've already paid
    It's the good advice that you just didn't take
    And who would've thought, it figures

    Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
    He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye
    He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
    And as the plane crashed down, he thought
    "Well, isn't this nice?"
    And isn't it ironic, don't you think?

    It's like rain on your wedding day
    It's a free ride when you've already paid
    It's the good advice that you just didn't take
    And who would've thought, it figures

    Well, life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
    When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
    And life has a funny way of helping you out
    When you think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up
    In your face

    A traffic jam when you're already late
    A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break
    It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
    It's meeting the man of my dreams
    And then meeting his beautiful wife
    And isn't it ironic, don't you think?
    A little too ironic
    And, yeah, I really do think

    It's like rain on your wedding day
    It's a free ride when you've already paid
    It's the good advice that you just didn't take
    And who would've thought, it figures

    And, yeah, life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
    Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out
    Helping you out

    SONG

    - Alanis Morissette


  128. SONG

    I wanna rip out my intestines, throw them in the sea
    I wanna raise the money to invest in plastic surgery
    I wanna cover myself head to toe in super sexy scars
    'Cause I mean, aren't you supposed to burn if you're a star?

    I want to be torn apart excruciatingly
    I punish my body 'cause it's not good enough for me
    The scary thoughts are spreading like a weed
    The thoughts that say that I deserve to bleed

    I wanna take a knife and draw a line across my chest
    I wanna feel much better than I do when I am at my best
    I wanna fly away from my own skin and find a better place
    I wanna slash across what used to be my face

    I want to be torn apart excruciatingly
    I punish my body 'cause it's not good enough for me
    The scary thoughts are spreading like a weed
    The thoughts that say that I deserve to bleed

    They say that it gets better but I guess that was a lie
    I guess we all just fake it 'til we die
    Sympathy and love we can extend to someone else
    But it's harder when you have to love yourself

    I want to be torn apart excruciatingly
    I punish my body 'cause it's not good enough for me
    The scary thoughts are spreading like a weed
    The thoughts that say that I deserve to bleed
    The thoughts that say that I deserve to bleed
    The thoughts that say that I deserve to bleed

    SONG

    - Sushi Soucy


  129. SONG

    I wanna be more real than all the others
    I wanna be more real than all the rest
    I wanna be so real you can't see the difference
    All of the places that we never went before
    All the times that we never had
    They dead in the past
    Dead in the past
    I wanna know how you see you
    The world is not enought
    I want your further truth

    I'm still waiting for the visions
    Possessions has yet to take hold on me
    We are all want to burn on a pyre
    So tell me what kind of witch are you
    The skin on your neck looks like a little thin
    Don't go sticking it out for me
    Like a beggar with a cold cup to fill
    I am the dirt under your nails
    I wanna know how you see you
    The world is not enough
    I want your further truth
    I wanna know how you see you
    The world is not enough
    I want your further truth

    The finest attributes of an amputee
    Something to eat instead of what you need to be
    One day closer that the last
    No more or less dead than the last second pass
    I wanna know how you see you
    The world is not enough
    I want your further truth
    I wanna know how you see you
    The world is not enough
    I want you further truth

    SONG

    Chcę bardziej prawdziwa być niż te inne
    Chcę bardziej prawdziwa od wszystkich być
    Chcę być tak prawdziwa, nie rozpozna mnie już nikt
    Wszystkie wspomnienia które nie dzielą nas
    Wszystkie momenty bez nas dwóch
    To przeszłości trup
    Przeszłości trup
    Ja wiedzieć chcę jak widzisz się
    Świat nie wystarczy mi
    Ja twoją prawdę chcę

    Dalej czekam na objawienia
    żaden demon nie opetał mnie
    kto nie chcę na stosie spalić się
    więc powiedz którą wiedźmą jesteś
    Coś cięką na szyji skóre masz
    Nie wystawiaj tak dla mnie jej
    Jak bezdomny co pustą puszkę ma
    Pod paznokciami znajdziesz mnie
    Ja wiedzieć chcę jak widzisz się
    Świat nie wystarczy mi
    Ja twoją prawdę chcę
    Ja wiedzieć chcę jak widzisz się
    Świat nie wystarczy mi
    Ja twoją prawdę chcę

    The finest attributes of an amputee
    Something to eat instead of what you need to be
    One day closer that the last
    No more or less dead than the last second pass
    Ja wiedzieć chcę jak widzisz się
    Świat nie wystarczy mi
    Ja twoją prawdę chcę
    Ja wiedzieć chcę jak widzisz się
    Świat nie wystarczy mi
    Ja twoją prawdę chcę

    - Against Me!


  130. SONG

    Moja krew
    Co chyłkiem płynie w głębi ciała które kryje się
    Po ciemnych korytarzach w alkoholu w ustach kobiet krew
    Podskórne życie me mierzone w litrach i płynące wspólną rzeką w morze krwi

    Moja krew, moja krew
    Mrożona wysyłana i składana w bankach krwi
    Bankierzy przelewają ją na tajne konta tajna broń
    Moją krwią
    Tajna broń konstruowana aby jeszcze lepiej
    Jeszcze piękniej
    Bezboleśniej ucieleśnić krew
    Moją krew
    Wypijaną przez kapłanów na trybunach na mównicach
    Na dyskretnych rokowaniach
    Moja krew

    A-a-a...

    Moja krew
    To moją krwią
    Zadrukowane krzyczą codzień rano
    Stosy gazet nagłówkmi barwionymi krwią
    Moją krew
    Wykrztusił z gardła spiker na ekranie liczę ślady mojej krwi
    Moją krwią moją krwią
    Leciutko podchmielone damy delikatnie przechylają szkło
    Na rautach w ambasadach
    Tak to moja krew
    To moją krwią
    Podpisywano wojnę miłość rozejm pokój, wyrok, układ, czek na śmierć

    Moja krew!
    A-a-a...

    Moja krew!

    Moja krew
    I twoja też
    I twoja też
    I moja też
    Moja krew
    I wasza też
    I nasza też
    I nasza też
    I moja krew
    Wasza też
    I twoja też
    Nasza krew
    I moja też
    Nasza też
    Moja krew
    Moja krew
    Wasza też
    I twoja też
    Moja krew

    SONG

    - Republika


  131. SONG

    Brüder und Schwestern, erhebet euch
    Diese Lügner da oben sind gegen euch
    Doch mit diesem Sound lassen wir ihre Straßen brenn'n
    Denn wer links denkt, ist hundertpro Schlagerfan

    Von den Karten Grenzen streichen
    Staaten müssen Menschen weichen
    Wir sind alle Sterne, alle gleich und
    Solidarität muss Praxis werden
    Fick die Abschiebebehörden
    Ist der Schlager dir zu hart, bist du zu weich
    Ey, ey, ey, ey, ey

    Das ist links-, linksradikaler Schlager
    Meine Schwester schläft im Shirt von Che Guevara
    Und wir trink-, trinken roten Mexikaner
    Auf Mutter Erde, aber nicht auf Vater Staat, ey, ey

    Das ist links-, linksradikaler Schlager
    Schmeißen Steine auf die Bull'n für gutes Karma
    Und sie jagen uns, als wären wir Osama
    Nazis kriegen kalte Füße, Stalingrad
    Ey, ey, ey, ey

    Brüder und Schwestern, Zeit einzusehen
    So wie es läuft, so darf es nicht weitergeh'n
    Zu lang haben sie unsern Arsch verkauft
    Doch die Rettung naht in Form dieses Schlagersounds

    Hetero ist keine Pflicht, doch homophob ist widerlich
    Denn wir sind alle Sterne, alle gleich und man muss Nazis
    Von den Straßen pogen, deutsches Blut auf deutschem Boden
    Ist der Schlager dir zu hart, bist du zu weich
    Ey, ey, ey, ey, ey

    Das ist links-, linksradikaler Schlager
    Meine Schwester schläft im Shirt von Che Guevara
    Und wir trink-, trinken roten Mexikaner
    Auf Mutter Erde, aber nicht auf Vater Staat, ey, ey

    Das ist links-, linksradikaler Schlager
    Schmeißen Steine auf die Bull'n für gutes Karma
    Und sie jagen uns, als wären wir Osama
    Nazis kriegen kalte Füße, Stalingrad
    Ey, ey, ey, ey

    La, la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
    La-la-la-la-la-la-la
    La, la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
    La-la-la, la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la

    Das ist links-, linksradikaler Schlager
    Meine Schwester schläft im Shirt von Che Guevara
    Und sie jagen uns als wären wir Osama
    Nazis kriegen kalte Füße, Stalingrad

    Das ist links-, linksradikaler Schlager
    Meine Schwester schläft im Shirt von Che Guevara
    Und wir trink-, trinken roten Mexikaner
    Auf Mutter Erde, aber nicht auf Vater Staat, ey, ey

    Das ist links-, linksradikaler Schlager
    Schmeißen Steine auf die Bull'n für gutes Karma
    Und sie jagen uns, als wären wir Osama
    Nazis kriegen kalte Füße, Stalingrad
    Ey, ey, ey, ey, ey, ey, ey, ey

    SONG

    -


  132. SONG

    Mit jeder Welle kam ein Traum, doch Träume geh'n vorüber
    Dein Brett ist verstaubt, deine Zweifel schäum'n über
    Hast ein Leben lang gewartet, hast gehofft, dass es sie gibt
    Hast den Glauben fast verloren, hast dich nicht vom Fleck bewegt

    Jetzt kommt sie langsam auf dich zu
    Das Wasser schlägt dir ins Gesicht
    Siehst dein Leben wie ein Film
    Du kannst nicht glauben, dass sie bricht

    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Lass dich einfach von ihr tragen, denk am besten gar nicht nach
    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Es gibt mehr als du weißt, es gibt mehr als du sagst

    Deine Hände sind schon taub, hast Salz in dein'n Augen
    Zwischen Trän'n und Staub, fällt es schwer noch dran zu glauben
    Du hast dein Leben lang gewartet, hast die Well'n nie gezählt
    Hast das alles nicht gewollt, du hast viel zu schnell gelebt

    Jetzt kommt sie langsam auf dich zu
    Das Wasser schlägt dir ins Gesicht
    Siehst dein Leben wie ein Film
    Du kannst nicht glauben, dass sie bricht

    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Lass dich einfach von ihr tragen, denk am besten gar nicht nach
    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Es gibt mehr als du weißt, es gibt mehr als du sagst

    Stellst dich in den Sturm und schreist (ich bin hier, ich bin frei)
    Alles, was ich will, ist Zeit (ich bin hier, ich bin frei)
    Stellst dich in den Sturm und schreist (ich bin hier, ich bin frei)
    (Ich bin hier, ich bin frei)

    Das ist die perfekte Welle

    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Lass dich einfach von ihr tragen, denk am besten gar nicht nach
    Das ist die perfekte Welle, das ist der perfekte Tag
    Es gibt mehr als du weißt, es gibt mehr als du sagst

    Das ist die perfekte Welle
    das ist der perfekte Tag dafür
    Das ist die perfekte Welle
    das ist der perfekte Tag

    SONG

    Każda fala rodzi sen, ale sny sie wymywają
    zakurzone łóżko jest, i frustracje wyją pianą
    Wyczekiwać całe życie, mieć nadzieje że gdzieś jest
    wiare prawie już straciłaś, nic już nie poruszy cię

    na horyzącię widzisz ją
    I wody w twarz dostajesz prysk
    życie toczy się jak film
    Nie wierzysz że zobaczysz gdy-

    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Weź po prostu daj się ponieść, nie myśl wcale jak i gdzie
    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Nie wiesz wcale jak jest, mówisz A a nie Be

    Twoje dłonie mrozi chłód, oczy całe zasolone
    nie ma o co płakać bo, wszytskie nadzieje stracone
    Całe życie wyczekujesz, nigdy nie widziałaś fal
    Wszystko dzieję się za szybko, Nie masz czasu spojrzeć w dal

    na horyzącię widzisz ją
    I wody w twarz dostajesz prysk
    życie toczy się jak film
    Nie wierzysz że zobaczysz gdy-

    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Weź po prostu daj się ponieść, nie myśl wcale jak i gdzie
    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Nie wiesz wcale jak jest, mówisz A a nie Be

    W nawałnicy słychać wrzask (jestem tu, swobodna)
    Wszystko czego chcę to czas (jestem tu, swobodna)
    W nawałnicy słychać wrzask (jestem tu, swobodna)
    (jestem tu, swobodna)

    To jest doskonała fala

    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Weź po prostu daj się ponieść, nie myśl wcale jak i gdzie
    To jest doskonała fala, to jest doskonały dzień
    Nie wiesz wcale jak jest, mówisz A a nie Be

    To jest doskonała fala
    to jest doskonały na nią dzień
    To jest doskonała fala
    to jest doskonały dzień

    - Juli


  133. SONG

    Sucker love is heaven sent
    You pucker up, our passion's spent
    My heart's a tart, your body's rent
    My body's broken, yours is bent

    Carve your name into my arm
    Instead of stressed, I lie here charmed
    'Cause there's nothing else to do
    Every me and every you

    Sucker love, a box I choose
    No other box I choose to use
    Another love I would abuse
    No circumstances could excuse

    In the shape of things to come
    Too much poison come undone
    'Cause there's nothing else to do
    Every me and every you
    Every me and every you
    Every me

    Sucker love is known to swing
    Prone to cling and waste these things
    Pucker up for heaven's sake
    There's never been so much at stake

    I serve my head up on a plate
    It's only comfort, calling late
    'Cause there's nothing else to do
    Every me and every you

    Every me and every you
    Every me
    Every me and every you
    Every me

    Like the naked leads the blind
    I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind
    Sucker love I always find
    Someone to bruise and leave behind

    All alone in space and time
    There's nothing here but what here's mine
    Something borrowed, something blue
    Every me and every you

    Every me and every you
    Every me
    Every me and every you
    Every me

    Every me and every you
    Every me
    Every me and every you
    Every me

    Every me and every you
    Every me
    Every me and every you
    Every me

    SONG

    - Placebo


  134. SONG

    Out on the wily, windy moors
    We'd roll and fall in green
    You had a temper like my jealousy
    Too hot, too greedy

    How could you leave me
    When I needed to possess you?
    I hated you, I loved you, too

    Bad dreams in the night
    They told me I was going to lose the fight
    Leave behind my Wuthering, Wuthering
    Wuthering Heights

    Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy
    I've come home, I'm so cold
    Let me in your window

    Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy
    I've come home, I'm so cold
    Let me in your window

    Ooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely
    On the other side from you
    I pine a lot, I find the lot
    Falls through without you

    I'm coming back love, cruel Heathcliff
    My one dream, my only master

    Too long I roam in the night
    I'm coming back to his side to put it right
    I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering
    Wuthering Heights

    Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy
    I've come home, I'm so cold
    Let me in your window

    Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy
    I've come home, I'm so cold
    Let me in your window

    Ooh, let me have it
    Let me grab your soul away
    Ooh, let me have it
    Let me grab your soul away
    You know it's me, Cathy

    Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy
    I've come home, I'm so cold
    Let me in your window

    Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy
    I've come home, I'm so cold
    Let me in your window

    Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy
    I've come home, I'm so cold

    SONG

    na wrzosowiskach dzikich lak
    we dwojke posrod traw
    bylam zazdrosna, a ty porywczy
    gorace serca
    jak tylko mogles
    tak zostawic mnie, samiutka
    nienawdzac cie, kochalam cie
    koszmar, drzenie skor
    szepty sa, ze nie uda mi sie boj
    odchodzac od mych wichrowych, wichrowych
    wichrowych wzgoz
    heathcliff, to ja, tu kasia
    juz wrocilam, zimno mi
    wpusc mnie przez twoje okno
    heathcliff, to ja, tu kasia
    juz wrocilam, zimno mi
    wpusc mnie przez twoje okno
    samotnie jest, nie wiesz jak to jest
    widziec z drugiej strony cie

    - Kate Bush


  135. SONG

    Ile dni, od ilu dni tańczymy tango
    Ile lat nie mija nic - tańczymy tango
    Oto piękna fordanserka
    Która dawno zmarła w moich rękach, w moich rękach

    Tańczę z nią, bo taniec trwa - tańczymy tango
    Nie zostanę przecież sam, bo tańczę tango
    Obok ktoś wiruje z lustrem
    Inny ktoś przytula suknię pustą, suknię pustą

    Dalej w tan orkiestra gra
    Dalej w tan orkiestra gra
    Dalej w tan orkiestra gra
    Dalej tańczmy tango
    Nieustanne tango

    Konkurs trwa, kto dłużej z nas wytrzyma tango
    Który z nas i która z was upadnie nagle
    Każdy chce partnera mieć i każdy kłamie
    Nie ma par do tańca, nikt nie prosi ładnie
    Nie strzelajcie do orkiestry
    Jeśli oni zginą - przyjdą lepsi, przyjdą lepsi

    Dalej w tan orkiestra gra
    Dalej tańczmy tango
    Nieustanne tango

    SONG

    - Republika


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